Dwindling Days
by squarened
Summary: Edward Masen lives a fairly average life with his parents. The only drawbacks are a moronic and petty enemy, unvaried dates, and not enough alone time. But what happens when Edward's contented life style gets turned upside down by a fatal epidemic? What h
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Kay so, this is my very first fanfic. This is basically the few days before Edward's change. Please please review. I would really appreciate any constructive critisism or praise. No flames. Keep in mind while reading this that it's my first fanfic, so don't be too critical.**

Chapter1-Catch

I stepped out onto the concrete porch of the town house. I took in a lungful of the cool early morning air. I grinned to myself. This was my favorite time of the day. The time to run.

I began at a slower pace. But, I couldn't contain myself. I let my legs stretch out under me, hitting the ground at a steady rhythm. I reveled in the familiar feeling of the soles of my bare, calloused feet catch the ground and release it.

I ran through the empty streets of the Windy city. It was surreal to see this city, so filled with life, so barren. I felt as if I was totally alone. Solidity was something I'd always desired. People were tedious and predictable. I woke up at this godforsaken hour to avoid them as long as possible.

I had run for some time, basking in my solitude, when a sharp pain resonated in my side. I grinned at this. No, I am not masochistic. I simply saw it as a challenge. I pushed my self even faster. I was nearing the beach soon.

The sharp pains grew, as I sprinted closing in on the Oak Street Beach. Just as I turned a corner, I saw the crumbling picket fence lining the familiar destination.

I ran across the empty street, never breaking my stride. I was almost there. Just a little faster, and I would be there.

My heart was pounding, my breathing was labored, my arms had turned red from the rush of blood, and my shoulder and side were killing me. I felt so alive.

My feet hit the sand, causing my pace to falter, but I kept going. It wasn't until I felt the cool, refreshing lake water lap at my feet, did stop running. I dove under the cool surface of the lake.

The fresh fluid engulphed me. Only when my lungs felt as if they were going to burst, did I return to the surface.

As I gasped for air I felt the all too familiar feeling of my lips throbbing, my chest heaving, and my head pounding. I grinned to myself. These sensations were comforting, in the strangest of ways. It was the feeling of living.

I lay on my back, in the black water. It was my routine; to get up at four thirty in the morning run to the beach from my home, swim in the black expanse of water, dry off some, and then return home. I did it every day.

After about an hour or so, I decided to get out of the water. There was a ring of light encircling the horizon. It was probably around five thirty. I trudged up the beach. I began a run at a slower pace than my previous run, but began to pick up the pace.

I decided to take a different route back to my home. I learned that this was probably not the best idea.

**A/N: I hope that wasn't too painful for you to read. I really do want to get better at writing Ed's p.o.v. I think the next chapter will be better. This chap was more of an intro. Remember: review!**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Gasp! Yes, I am continuing w/ the fic. I got some reviews that encouraged me to continue, so here I am. I also got me a super awesome beta reader, LongLostTwinOfIsabellaSwan. She helped a lot with this chapter and me getting ideas for it so, she's like the co-author of this.

Review people! No flames.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or New Moon or anything. (This is the last disclaimer I'm doing. We all know, I'm not Stephenie Meyer)

Chapter 2- Tommy & Eddie

It was interesting to watch the temporarily dormant city come to life. The milkmen, icemen, and other city goers traversed the streets at slow, shuffling paces as I sped past them.

I concentrated on the steady cadences of my footfalls, the rhythm of my heartbeat and my raspy breathing. I tried evening out my breathing by breathing through my nose, but I felt like I was being smothered and abandoned that plan of action.

Instead of continuing my run down Lake Shore Ave., I made a left turn so I was going up the street my school was on. I went to a prestigious all-boys private school called Saint Bartholomew's Boys Academy. The school was not my favorite place to be. It was a very exclusive school. It didn't matter if you were intelligent. You just had to have money. Needless to say every one who attended the institution was a complete dolt.

I chose to seclude myself from the other students at the school. They were all so stupid, immature, and tedious. It was a wonder that any of them had actually made it this far in their education. The adolescents in the slums of the city were more prepared for the on-coming adult-hood. I wondered briefly how my schoolmates would survive when they were drafted into the war. Not to say I had high hopes for myself.

The faculty of the school wasn't much better. Just because nuns basically ran the school, didn't mean they had any morals. They couldn't give a rat's ass if you were an excellent student. They only cared if your parents had money. It annoyed me to no end—possibly even more than the ridiculously repugnant behavior of the students.

I suppressed a groan when I spotted the person who was quite possibly the most obnoxious cretin to attend the institution—not only currently, but possibly ever. He and a couple of his cronies looked like they were bullying a freshman. He was holding him up by the collar of his shirt and shaking him.

I should probably mention the cretin's name is Thomas Hoover. We'd hated each other since our first year at Saint Bart's. He picked on every one. One day he figured out that I had money, so he did what any self-respecting villain—amateur or no—would do: he threatened to beat me to a pulp if I didn't "cough up some dough". He had the idea that he intimidated me. But I'm not and wasn't then. I told him to leave me alone. It resulted in a pair of bloody noses and detentions for a week. We've been enemies ever since.

I stopped running and went over to the chain link fence without a second thought. Perhaps it would have been better if I kept going. Regardless, my eyes narrowed and I yelled, "Hey! Hoover!"

He dropped the poor kid and turned to face me. He grinned at the sight of me and waved his cronies over to sauntered to over to the fence with him, the freshman forgotten.

"The hell you want Eddie?" he sneered, still grinning like a madman. I hated it when he called me Eddie. It sounded like a pet name. In fact it was a pet name; I hated it when my mother called me it. It didn't help that he knew that.

"What were you doing with that kid over there?" I demanded, ignoring his question, thought the answer to my question was just as obvious as the answer to his. I peered over his shoulder to watch as the freshman he had been bullying scramble over the fence and run away.

"None of your business," Hoover said.

"Aaw, come on, Tommy. Don't be like that," I teased.

"Shut your face, Eddie," he snapped, angered by my mere teasing.

I couldn't stop myself. Just being around him made me more immature, as if his very presence sucked me down to his level. "Make me," I snapped back. The most childish of retorts.

"You want to fight me, Masen?"

I did. I really did. I wanted to shut him up and make him leave me alone. I realized then that by calling him over to me, I'd brought this upon myself. I suppressed another groan at my thoughtlessness.

When I didn't answer, he of course, assumed that it was because I was afraid. "I thought so. Why don't you leave, Masen, so I don't have to keep looking at your ugly-ass face," he sneered His friends guffawed as if he had just made the most brilliant comeback. It was sickening.

I grit my teeth together, my temper flaring. "I want to fight."

"What's that, Masen? Did you say you want to fight?"

"You heard me."

"Fine. I'll fight you, but you won't win, I can tell you that much."

I smirked. He was trying to scare me out of it. I could tell by the way his smirk faltered when I confirmed that I wanted to fight. His eyes were pleading me to back down. I wasn't about to. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Prove it."

I hopped the fence easily. Almost as soon as I landed on my feet, I felt a sharp blow to the side of my face. He punched me. I put my hand to my jaw to feel where he'd punched me. "What the hell?" I muttered. He didn't give any warning at all.

"You said you wanted to fight. We're fighting, " Hoover reminded me as he drew his fist back for another punch.

I was quicker than him on my worst days, though. I punched him right in the nose as hard as I could before he finished drawing his fist back.

He stumbled backwards and cupped his hand over his bleeding nose. "You bastard! I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed.

"You said you wanted to fight, " I reminded him, cockily.

I drew my fist back to punch him again, but a pair of hands grabbed my arms and pinned them to my sides. I tried to pull my arms out of the grip but the grip was too tight. "Let go of me!" I demanded Hoover's crony. He only guffawed in response: his only available reply, I thought sourly.

I scowled at Hoover. "This isn't fair!"

He laughed. I hated his laugh. It made him sound like a goddamn hyena. "Hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't fair." He pounded his fist strait into my eye, in revenge for his still gushing nose.

I swung my foot out and hit him in the shin.

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath. He bent over and held his thick hands over his shin-where I kicked him.

"Make him let go of me," I demanded, glaring at Hoover. "This isn't any easier for either of us."

He glowered at me for a moment before he waved his lackey away.

As soon as his friend let go of me I lunged forward and shoved Hoover. He stumbled backwards, lost his balance, and fell; I managed to catch myself and remained standing.

He was about to get up, but I stepped down on his chest.

"The hell are you doing?"

I ignored him and kneeled over him so that my knees were on either side of him. I proceeded to punch him, relentlessly. It felt good, in a sick sense, to be able to inflict pain upon him. It was a release of some sort.

I tried not to grin when I stopped, to view the damage I had done to him. Blood streaked down his cheeks, his lips, and neck, soaking into his white shirt. His lip was split, and various potential bruises covered every inch of his face. I drew back my fist to punch him again, but as quick as I was, he was stronger. Hoover rolled over so we were in opposite positions.

I turned my head so that his punches wouldn't hit me strait in the face, protecting my eyes and nose.

"Oh no you don't." Hoover took my jaw in one of his thick hands, roughly. My mouth was squished uncomfortably, so my speech was slurred.

" 'Et go." In my current state, I wasn't very intimidating, needless to say.

He slammed his fist into my face several times, before he spoke his reply. "What's that, Eddie-boy? Did'ja say something?" His voice was mocking and triumphant. He took his hand away from my jaw and I struggled uselessly to get free from under him. He struck my again with his fist this time he succeeded in hitting my nose. I could feel the hot blood spill down the side of my face and chin, though I didn't feel the pain yet.

He was about to punch me again, but he suddenly erupted into a fit of coughs, that incapacitated him. He didn't bother to lean away, or cover his mouth. His hot, moist, sour breath blew into my face.

"Ugh!" I grunted. "Get the hell off me! That's digusting."

Again, he slammed his face into my face, this time hitting my eye. "You should know better to talk to me that way, Eddie." His tone was less triumphant than before, yet still held its sarcastic edge.

He looked up for a moment and his features fell. "Oh, _shit,_" he hissed before leaping off of me. I frowned in confusion as I watched Hoover and his lackeys hop the chain link fence and run as fast as their out-of-shape behinds would allow them.

I didn't move from where I lay on the asphalt. Perhaps I should have, I realized as a shadow was cast over my limp form.

A/N: Edward lovers: Don't kill me, please!

Remember: Please review!


	3. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

I turned my head to see whose shadow was looming over me. As luck would have it, it was one of the nuns that worked at the school. None of the nuns were particularly kind-hearted. I'd be lying if I said they were. This nun however- Sister Irene- was the worst. She was well known through out the school for her unusual behavior.

I quickly pulled myself to my feet. Blood immediately gushed down my face, staining my shirt and pooling onto the asphalt. I cupped my hands over my nose, in an attempt to stop the blood from dripping everywhere. I looked up at Sister Irene to apologize, but she spoke before I could.

"Come with me Mr. Masen," she said brusquely.

"Yes, Sister Irene," I mumbled, to myself for the most part, for she'd already turned around and walked off toward an open door on the side of the brick building.

As we made our way through the maze of corridors through the school, I thought about what had just happened. I was madder at myself than at Hoover. Why did I bother with him? It was so petty and stupid to get in a fight with him. There was no reason why I had allowed myself to get in a fight other than my own selfish want to make him leave me alone –perhaps to even fear me. But, I hadn't achieved either of those things for sure. If anything, he was going to bother me more. How I regretted fighting him. Immaturity was so rare for me. It irked me that he had to bring out that side of me.

I followed Sister Irene through a doorway labeled with a number, like all the other doors in the school.

It was a classroom. There were neat rows of wooden desks and a larger desk in front of the class with a chalkboard behind it.

"Sit," the nun commanded. Her tone was irate and sharp. I only expected the worst.

I obediently sat at one of the desks; arguing with any authority was simply unheard of.

"I can't believe you have the nerve to come onto school grounds and fight! What on earth is the matter with you?" she yelled, gripping the desk top with her short, pale fingers. Blue veins were popping in her wrists. Her thin pasty skin stretched over her knuckles.

"I apologize, Sister Irene. I was-"

"Don't be cheeky with me!" she snapped.

I suppressed a sigh. She always thought everyone was being 'cheeky'. "Please, Sister Irene, I wasn't trying to be cheeky at all," I reasoned.

"Don't give me that rubbish! Why were you and Mr. Hoover fighting?"

"I was coming by the school and I saw him fighting with a freshman-"

"I don't see what you're getting at. Stop this nonsense and explain!" the nun screamed. Flecks of spit flew into my face.

She, by no means, was easy to talk to. There were rumors that she had rabies. I knew it was just a silly myth made by students at the school, but I couldn't help thinking _something_ was wrong with her.

"Hoover and I-" I began to explain again, but just like the last times I spoke up, she cut me off.

"I'm tired of you fooling around, Mr. Masen. You have a referral waiting for you on Monday. Expect the worst. Leave now."

I slowly got out of my seat. Peeking over my shoulder at her, bewildered by her abrupt dismissal. I hurried down the hallways and corridors; relief flooded me when I spotted the exit. It wasn't until I'd reached my street did I slow my pace and I realized what would be waiting for me. I grimaced as I made my climb up the steps to my home. This was not going to be pretty. At least my nose stopped bleeding. I shook my head at my pitiful attempts at being optimistic.

I'd just barely touched the doorknob when the door was torn open, my mother standing on the other side.

My mother needless to say was outraged at my appearance.

"Edward! Oh my goodness gracious! What happened?" she demanded in a rush.

"Mother I'm fine-" I tried to explain, but she cut me off. This was strangely familiar, I thought to myself sardonically.

"Heavens! Look at you! How can you say you're fine when there's blood and bruises everywhere, and your eye!" she turned her head then to call my father. "Edward! Come in here, please."

My father entered the foyer at a leisurely pace, yet his steps were careful and concise as always. "Yes, love?"

My mother scowled. She was often irked by my father's calm and cool demeanor, for that was how he always was. She would never say so out loud -it was considered a faux pas to speak such against your husband- but I could tell that it bothered her in the way how her brow pulled together and her mouth set in an impatient line. "Well, look at our son," she said gesturing to my face.

My father turned to me now. A slight crease formed in his brow. "Now son, when I said try to involve yourself with some of the other boys, I didn't necessarily mean for you to fight them."

My mother's frown deepened. "Well, why don't you go and clean up. You can't very well come to the table looking like that."

I nodded obediently and climbed the stairs quickly, relieved to be out from under my parents' -my mother's in particular- speculative eyes.

I went to the bathroom, at the end of the hallway, and turned on the sink. As far as plumbing goes, we were very lucky to have it; only the wealthier families, such as my own, could afford it.

I cupped my hands under the cool water and splashed it on my face. I had to be quick, so I hardly paid any mind to the mirror -only a brief glance in the mirror on the medicine cabinet told me my appearance was decent.When I got to my room I changed out of my still slightly damp apparel into a more formal and acceptable attire.

As I made my way to the dinning room I heard my parents speaking in hushed tones. I stopped by the doorway and stood where I was out of view so I could listen. I wouldn't have bothered -eavesdropping was a very juvenile activity I normally didn't take part in- but from the tone my parents were speaking in, I could tell that they were arguing. My parents never argued. It was either that or I was completely oblivious.

"Please, Edward, you must be more assertive with him." That was my mother, her voice low and brusque.

"Now dear Eliza, Edward is a man. He doesn't need us to discipline him much anymore. He has high morals. He know what he did wrong," my father soothed.

"Wrong? Of course what he did was wrong. It was irresponsible and childish and you must do something. You're his father, he looks up to you."

"Of course, love. I'll have a talk with him. But surely, you must acknowledge that he hardly gets in any trouble," my father pointed out.

"Yes, but honestly. The first time in quite a while he's bothered to associate with one of his school-mates and he fights him?"

I could see where this conversation was going; my mother was going to continue to continue her complaints by saying that I ought to be more friendly to the other boys my age and try and make friends. My father would merely nod his head and his only verbal reply would be simple "Yes, dear. Of course."

I made my entrance to the dinning room before my father could reply.

"Eddie dear," -I grimaced inwardly at the pet name- "What took you so long? Your breakfast is stone cold by now," she chastised.

"I apologize, Mother." I took my seat between my parents where they sat at the heads of the rectangular table.

The room was silent for a moment with the exception of the metallic sound of silverware coming into contact with the china plates and the inexorable tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

I looked up from my plate of cold eggs and toast to see my parents were having one of those silent conversations where they communicated through their eyes, that all parents seemed to have the ability to do. From what I could decipher from their purposeful gazes, my mother wanted my father to have the talk she had been insisting my father have with me before I made my presence known; the way her sharp green eyes darted meaningfully over in my direction and the impatient set of her mouth gave this much away. My father's eyebrows were pulled up anxiously and he chewed his breakfast slowly and carefully, almost hesitantly; he wished that the conversation could wait. My mother glared at my father's hesitancy. He sighed defeated, his eyes turned wary. He cleared his throat and set his fork and knife down and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"So, son," my father began with the same trace of hesitancy as before.

"Yes, father?" I responded formally. I knew what he was going to say, though I feigned innocence.

"I understand you got yourself into a fight." He held a serious expression and tone, although it was almost mockingly so.

"Yes," I confirmed flatly.

"I hope you understand how irresponsible and juvenile that is."

"Of course. I truly am sorry. It really was childish and petty of me," I agreed.

My father nodded his head. "We'll let you off easy this time, but there will certainly be severe consequences the next time something like this happens," my father warned with a humorous glint in his eye.

My mother's face resumed its agitated lines when she saw that her husband had no intention in punishing me. "And did you remember that we are attending an event this evening? What will Catherine think?"

My brow pulled together in confusion. This I had failed to remember. And who was Catherine? "I'm sorry," I said slowly. "I didn't know we were attending any event."

It was my father's turn to be impatient. He exhaled sharply. "Son, we told you about this three days ago at the latest. Do you not remember at all? You must remember these things."

A nod of the head was my only response.

My mother spoke up again. "Who was it that you got into a fight with?" It was more of a demand than a question.

I froze, my mind scrambling for an excuse that would suffice; I couldn't give her the real answer. I knew what would ensue. As if she could read my mind, she said, "Don't you lie to me, Edward. I want the truth."

I sighed. "It's really not that important."

"That's not really your decision, now is it?" she countered cocking a coppery eyebrow.

"No, I suppose it's not. But, what do you intend to do with his name?" I inquired.

My father frowned. "There's no need to be so inquisitive of your mother. It's disrespectful. Now, why don't you tell us this boy's name?"

"It doesn't mater. His name isn't important," I insisted.

My parents exchanged a glance before my father spoke again. "Edward Anthony Masen, you tell us the name of the boy who did this to you this instant."

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Was there no hope, I wondered? Was there no way out? I knew my father worked with Thomas Hoover's father at his law firm. There wasn't' a doubt in my mind that my father would have a talk with his father who would naturally have a talk with his son, who would automatically want to fight me. Again. I wasn't' too keen on that happening. But I couldn't simply defy my parents. That wasn't necessarily an option whether I liked it or not.

"Well?" my mother prompted.

"Well, his name -and I'm not sure if this is it- but it might be, hm, well..." I was stalling and I knew I was doing a terrible job of covering it up.

"Get on with it Edward," my father said smoothly. "We haven't got all day."

"Thomas Hoover," I sighed in defeat.

"Hoover, hm? I know his father. I'll have to have a talk with him," my father mused.

I frowned slightly, but chose not to protest

The rest of the afternoon passed with out event. I stayed in my room reading; the Iliad was my current consummation of time. My parents would have insisted I do something productive, if they hadn't banished me to my room for my crude behavior; i.e. the fight I got into. I couldn't complain though. I'd always found solace in my room, where there was a quiet and calm atmosphere. The only noise that broke the silence was the occasional cough from my father in his study, across the hall. But that was easy to ignore.

My mind was in the throes of an epic battle sequence between Achilles and his Myrmidon against Hector and the Trojans, when a sharp knock sounded against my door.

"Come in." My voice sounded strange from not speaking since this morning. I pulled myself into a more formal position, for I was laying flat on my back, sprawled on top of my four-poster bed, my head lolled over the edge and my arms held out-stretched holding the lengthy epic. I situated myself so I was sitting cross-legged, my back resting against the headboard.

The door creaked open and our servant, Bernard, stepped through. He had sheet white hair that was slicked smooth against his scalp. He had large watery grey eyes and sagging eyelids that hardly seemed capable of holding on. Thousands of tiny creases and crinkles covered the hollows of his cheeks and came to gather at the corners of his eyes and lips, and along his neck. "Sir, your mother requests that you dress for the party. She also wanted me to remind you that Catherine will be coming in half an hour."

"Thank you, Bernard. You may leave, if that is all."

He nodded once and left.

I sighed, exasperated. Of course I had to escort a girl to the party. But why? All the girls my parents found suitable were all the same; extraordinarily empty headed and superficial.

I pulled myself off my bed and shuffled to the armoire in the corner of my large bedroom. When I was changed into more proper clothing, I retired to continue reading the Iliad, only to be interrupted once again, this time by the doorbell.

**Author's Note: Oh my gosh. Please forgive me. I know, it's taken me FOREVER to really update this story. My excuse is that the last three months haven't been very easy for me. Firstly I'm grounded for having lousy grades, so I'm not really supposed to be on that computer right now. That's bad enough. There's other stuff that's more personal, but, I thought you deserved at least one excuse. I swear, I'll be better at updating from now on. I just got caught up in being grounded and other stuff. In fact, I'm even working on the next chapter. So, I'm really serious about updating and what not. I feel really really bad about not updating very often. And I knwo, this wasn't the most exciting chapter. At least it was sort of long. Right?  
**

**Pretty please review. I love any kind of feed back.  
**


	4. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Small talk is the worst form of speech. It's shallow and pointless. It doesn't do anyone any good. Small talk only makes you look like a rambling fool filled with hot air.

"It's been awfully warm lately."

"Yes," I agree flatly to the insipid girl -Catherine- standing next to me. I couldn't trouble myself to sound even mildly interested in what she was saying.

This was how conversation had been going for the whole half hour that I'd known Catherine. It was positively mind numbing. I'd half expected her to be appealing. I fantasized about the possibilities of my blind date on the way to the foyer where she awaited my entrance. She would be unpredictable and intellectual. She would hold my attention. She would be modest yet mysterious. She'd have a genuine depth to her eyes and an infectious smile. Was it too much to ask for a girl to have attractive qualities? Was there a girl that existed that had such fairytale traits? Apparently not. Catherine Abbott was a mediocre, predictable, conceited, simple-minded girl.

As I came into the entryway I noticed that she was staring at the mirror on the opposite wall. She prodded and patted down her thick sandy hair that was already pulled back into a severe bun. The expanse of skin on her forehead was dotted with freckles much like the ones her cheeks. Her eyes were a dull, wooden brown - there was no depth whatsoever. She turned sharply when she heard me enter the room. She made a miserable attempt at a coy smile, for it was uncertain and false; there was nothing infectious about it.

"So, what school was it that you said you went to? Saint Bartholomew's, was it?"

I was about to give her a caustic response for the question which I'd answered three times already, when I noticed she was looking past me, somewhere behind me. I turned to see who or what she was looking at. I searched for a moment before my eyes stilled on a large ornate mirror hanging on the far wall of the hall the party was being held at.

I turned back to Catherine. Her face was flushed slightly. "Is something wrong?" she asked innocently.

I narrowed my eyes infinitesimally. "Why were you looking in the mirror? Making sure your reflection is still there? You don't look like a vampire."

More color touched her cheekbones. "No, I was just -well, I don't see why it matters much. My reflection just caught my eye, is all."

"Hm," was my terse response.

There was a moment of silence that passed between us -awkward on her part, and irritated and grateful on my own.

"How is it there -at Saint Bartholomew's, I mean," Catherine spoke up abruptly, in hopes of ending the uncomfortable silence, I guessed.

"It's not too bad, I suppose."

"Well... that's good."

"I would think so," I muttered. I couldn't even believe I was having this conversation. It was beyond pointless. Her eyes darted away from me and focused on the dance floor. "Would you like to dance?" she offered after a moment of watching the group of people sway and swirl about the marble floor. She asked her question with ineluctable trepidation. I smirked when I realized that I intimidated her.

"No, not in particular," I said in a bored drawl. One corner of my mouth twitched into a half smile at her crest-fallen expression. "You can dance with some one else, if you like," I suggested.

Catherine stared at me, surprised, no doubt, at my offer -it was very unusual to abandon your date at a party. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," I answered too quickly, but she'd already started walking off toward the other side of the room, toward a cluster of girls and boys around my age.

I looked around the hall for a moment, deciding what to do next. I felt no true inclination to stay in the auditorium; it's claustrophobic air thick with superficial laughter and unbearable small talk. My mind was made up; I was going outside.

I slipped through the French doors that opened to a garden. Lanterns hung on the knotty branches of large oaks, illuminating the peeling bark, excessive flora, and twisting vines. I sat down on a marble bench beside a small pond with large water lilies floating lazily atop the water.

Though I had managed to escape from the party, I wasn't too happy with my new situation. I realized that I had nothing to entertain myself with. I scooped up a handful of pebbles on the ground and tossed them in the pond while I pondered whether this was a truly satisfying activity and if I should spend the rest of my time doing just this.

I lost track of time. Seconds meshed into minutes which meshed into hours -though I couldn't be certain if I'd even been out in the garden for that long. There was no change in scenery; the night couldn't be any darker.

I was deep in a blank reverie when there was an increase of noise coming from the party as the back doors opened and my parents traipsed through the thresh-hold.

"Eddie? What are you doing out here? And Catherine -where is she?" my mother demanded.

I opened my mouth to respond when my father broke out in a tirade of coughs. "Excuse me," he mumbled, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

"I want you to go to the doctor for your cough, darling," my mother told my father.

"It's nothing to worry about, love. It's just a bit of a cough," My father consoled, his voice throaty from coughing.

My mother pursed her lips and turned to me, vexed by my father's stubbornness. "Edward, would you please answer my questions?"

"The party -well, it was rather boring. I told Catherine she could dance with some one else," I informed her.

My mother sighed, exasperated. "Edward dear, can't you try to be more sociable? Is she so horrible that you can't even try?"

I looked away from her disappointed gaze. "I'm sorry."

My father opened his mouth to say something but began coughing once again, incapacitating him.

"You are seeing a doctor," my mother told my father authoritatively, allowing no argument.

"Very well, dear," my father agreed hoarsely. "Now son," my father addressed me now. "You must learn to be more accepting of the choices of women you have. It's not easy to find women matching in your intelligence and wit. You mustn't be so impatient and short."

I scowled down at the ground. "Is it so wrong of me to conceive expectations of my dates? Perhaps it would be better if I chose whom I'm going to be escorting to parties," I suggested dubiously.

My father chuckled blackly. "Son, if you had it your way you would have no one. We can't have that now can we? You have a duty to fulfill," he told me in mock solemnity as he clapped a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

"A duty?" I questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, a duty. You must carry on the Masen legacy." I wondered briefly how he could hold such a straight face as he said this. He coughed coarsely once again, and brought the handkerchief to his mouth.

"We ought to go. I don't want your cough getting any worse than it already is," my mother announced when my father finished hacking away.

"All right, dear," my father agreed simply.

On the way home I contemplated what my father had said about me choosing to be alone, if I had the option. Would I truly choose to be alone? I always had enjoyed the peacefulness of being solitary, but did I really want that forever? No, I didn't. I knew I yearned for some one to connect to, some one who I could love unconditionally, some one who intrigued me. Did a person of the sort even exist? I'd only heard of such women in works of literature, not in reality. So, maybe I was meant to be alone. Perhaps my expectations were too unrealistic.

I continued to mull it all over the rest of the night. I persisted to ponder through the fog of fatigue as I strived to stay awake as I lay in bed, only to fall into the black depths of unconsciousness.

**A/N: See? I got it done in a week. Yay.**

**Pretty please review. Feed back is greatly appreciated. **


	5. Chapter 7

**A/N: Please take into account here that I don't know anything about medicine, much less how it was in the early 1900's. Not to mention I've never had a case of the flu this bad either so, I'm just taking a creative liberty and making a guess. **

**Also: I probably won't have quite as many updates as usual because it is now officially summer. Actually it has been for two or three weeks now. Typically people have fewer things to do during summer but I have a lot of shit going on. Next week I have to be a counselor at a sleep over camp. In the next two weeks after the sleep over camp I've got an intensive writing camp. Then I'm going to Michigan and Chicago to visit my family. And to top it off I have to keep a "dialectical journal" for the Hobbit because I got into the English EXP. So! Guess what this means? I will not be updating nearly as often as I did before. Which is really disappointing because I was so glad I was able to update every week. Anywho, I will try to update as often as possible, but don't expect one every week.**

Chapter 6

The rest of the weekend passed in its usual lazy slur. I attempted to go running the next day, but my mother was already up and about that morning and told me to go back to bed. "What if it happens again? I can't have that. You're already bruised up enough," she told me as I made my way, grudgingly, up the stairs.

I awoke on Monday morning with a dry itch in my throat. I tried clearing my throat to dispel the uncomfortable feeling, but if anything it made my throat itchier. I realized, much to my annoyance, that I'd probably caught whatever cough my father had. I proceeded to make my way down to the dinning room to have breakfast. I met only my mother in the dinning room.

"Where's father?" I asked my mother, bemused by my father's unusual absence.

My mother frowned. "He was too ill to come to breakfast. I told him to stay in bed."

"How sick is he?"

"Sick enough," she said tightly. I thought she wasn't going to continue but she went on. "The doctor gave him some antibiotics. He said it was just a virus that's been going around, nothing to worry about." My mother's expression was skeptical.

School passed with out event, to my surprise; I'd expected Thomas to be there to taunt and harass me, but he wasn't even at school. I have to say I was extraordinarily pleased by this.

On the downside of this otherwise good day, the annoying tingle in my throat turned into a more urgent burn. I began to cough, which by no means helped. By the end of class my throat felt raw and swollen. It wasn't until the next day when the coughing became over-bearing. In the middle of my arithmetic class Sister Lillian, the teacher of that class, sent me to the nurses office.

There I spent the rest of the day lying in a stiff cot. I asked the nurse if I could go back to class sometime after lunch because I was so bored, but she told me to go lie down and keep quiet. "You're still coughing and awful lot. You're not fit to go back to class. Talking isn't helping either."

As soon as I came home I went to bed, not able to do much else. The coughing was coming much worse now and my throat was burning horrendously at this point. Each cough felt like sand paper chafing brutally against my tender throat. I could hardly breath; my breath came out in sharp, uneven gasps.

I awoke sometime in the middle of the night. I was shivering. I didn't understand how it could be so cold. Icy beads of sweat covered my entire body. I felt around for my blanket blindly –it was too dark to see. I found it on the floor and, as quickly as I could, wrapped it around myself. However the blanket didn't help much at all; my teeth continued to clatter together. The room was as cold as before.

Suddenly I heard a scream and then, a few moments later, a door opening and some one running down the hall way, passed my room, and down the stairs. "Bernard! Bernard! Oh for goodness sake!" my mother called frantically. She stopped yelling for a moment to cough. Her own coughing sounded horrible.

I listened carefully so I could hear what was going on, but for sometime, the most I could make out was my mother and, presumably, Bernard walking around and their muffled voices, nothing specific.

Then, I heard my mother call out to Bernard at the foot of the stairs, "I'm going to go and check on Eddie. He's had a bit of a cough for a couple days now." I couldn't make out Bernard's response.

A few moments later I saw a dull light from the crack under the door. The door opened slowly. My mother stood in the doorway holding a lit candle. She wore a white night gown and her bronze hair hung around her shoulders. "Eddie?" she said in a whisper. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," I managed to gasp.

She came up to my bed. I watched her face. It looked sickly in the pale glow of the candle. "My goodness," she said her face becoming distraught. "You're shaking like a leaf."

I opened my mouth to sooth her, to tell her I was fine, but all that came out was an agonizing cough.

"Well, the doctor's on his way," she said looking away from me. She brought her fist to her mouth and coughed heartily into it and left the room with out another word.

Fifteen minutes or so later I heard a sharp knock on my door. The door opened before I could invite who ever were knocking, in.

The door closed silently. The room was black as pitch once again. "Hello?" I whispered.

"Hello, Mr. Masen, I presume," a man's voice responded out of the dark. Suddenly a candle was lit, illuminating the face of the man. He wore a white lab coat that reached all the way to his knees. His steel colored hair was slicked back against his head. He had regular, yet tired features. I guessed he was the doctor.

He came to sit at the edge of my bed and placed the candle on my nightstand. "Say 'ah'," he instructed as he took a tool that looked like a wooden popsicle stick out of his breast pocket. I obliged. After he pressed my tongue down with the instrument, he proceeded to take my temperature. His bushy, grey eyebrows raised as he examined the temperature. He left the room then, closing the door behind him.

Moments later Bernard came into my room. "Edward, sir, you need to get up. You lot are going to stay at the hospital," he told me.

I suppressed a groan as I tried to pull myself out of bed. When I finally peeled myself out of bed I stumbled to my armoire but Bernard put a withered hand on my shoulder. " Sir, other clothing will be quite unnecessary. All you'll need is your shoes and jacket." I nodded and followed him out of the room, hugging my arms to my chest in a useless attempt to keep the warmth in.

My mother was waiting in the foyer. She stood hunched over and feeble looking. Her skin was wan and her eyes were blood shot. She clutched a shawl around her. Her hair was twisted into a lopsided bun. Dark circles fanned out from under her eyelids. When she saw me she asked me if I was ready to go. I nodded my head and followed her outside, into the pouring rain. As we walked out to the car my mother reached out and grabbed my hand and tenaciously wrapped her long pale fingers around my own.

I awoke with a start, my eyes darted frantically around. At first I was confused by my surroundings –there were two rows of cot's facing each other in a long stark white room. Kerosene lamps lined the walls and candles stood on tables and nightstands, their ashen glow was somber. People occupied every single bed. They coughed and moaned, some cried. I felt like I was still dreaming. It was all so surreal and alarming. But then it came all crashing back to me: I was in the hospital.

I turned my head. My mother was in the cot next to me. She was asleep. I searched the room for my father but had no luck finding him. I turned my head in the other direction and started when I saw a doctor standing next to the bed. He wasn't looking at me; he was scribbling notes on a clipboard. He looked up and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"No worries," I croaked, then instantly regretted it; a pang of pain shot down my throat. I grimaced.

"Are you okay?" he asked peering down at me concernedly. His eyes, though they were kind, were very odd. They were a peculiar black.

When I didn't answer he cleared his throat and turned to the nightstand next to my cot. "It appears that you, your mother, and father have fallen ill to the Spanish Influenza," he said. He held up a syringe and a vial, checked the label of the vial, then stabbed the needle through the lid of the container. "Hold out your arm, Mr. Masen," he instructed.

I held out my arm, but I was shaking so hard that I didn't see how he could stick the needle in the right place in one try. He took a hold of my forearm and held my arm almost totally still. He jabbed the needle through my skin. I was surprised by how cold and hard his hands were. They were like ice.

Then as he was putting away the medicine, I began to cough. Torrents of sharp air carved it's way through my throat and poured out in a terrible and sickly sound that bounced and echoed off the walls. At first I expected it to stop after a few moments, but it didn't. I could faintly hear the doctor ask me if I was all right, but I couldn't answer. I tried sucking in some scrap of air, but that only made me cough harder. I vaguely heard in the background, the doctor call for help from other hospital staff. Hazy black spots bloomed across my vision and I fell into a deep blackness.


	6. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Okay so I'm glad people liked the last chapter. I thought it was kinda crappy. It was too rushed. I don't know. Inny-hoo. So about this chapter: I'm going to **_**attempt**_** writing in Carlisle's point of view. I may fail at this because I've gotten so used to writing Edward's PoV, but I think it would be interesting. Carlisle is one of the much-neglected characters in the fandom and I think he deserves some credit. He's awesome. And a doctor. And gave us Edward. So, I don't think you can really argue with that. **

**Forgotten Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or New Moon. They belong to the lovely and ever popular, Stephenie Meyer. **

**¡Review por favor! Please give me constructive criticism. Or just criticism. I want someone to tell me what's wrong with this story. Even if it's like a minimal spelling error. I do not care! Compliments are nice too. But still. CONCRIT. **

**Thank you muchos to those of you who have given me reviews. Especially to those of you who have reviewed every single chapter. They really help me keep going so keep it up. **

**On with the freaking chapter!**

Chapter 7

[A/N: Just so you're not confused, I decided to skip to after Edward is already taken care of. The whole scene was just too confusing when I wrote it down.

I sighed as I stared at him lying unconscious, but breathing. _At least he's breathing_, I told myself. He could be dead. But he was unconscious. That was the part that made me sigh, frustrated. What could I do? He would be one more failure on my part if he died. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and bowed my head. His father was the closest to death. He hadn't been responsive at all. He came into the hospital unconscious. It was only a matter of time before he passed on like many others. His days were dwindling.

What do I have to do, I prayed silently? Please, if I could just have a hint.

I waited a moment, but nothing came to me. I took one last look at the boy and left the room. We had to move him out of the main area of the hospital and into a ward for the dying, along with his father. It made my heart ache to see this happening.

I couldn't dwell on anyone's death or illness. I couldn't get attached to any of my patients as a doctor and as the inhuman creature that I truly am. It was unprofessional if I let myself get too distressed over death. It was inevitable I had to reason. It would have to happen some day. As a vampire it was very dangerous to feel any regard for the patients. Not just for them, but also for me. If they found out what I truly was it would be likely both the unsuspecting human and myself would get killed. By the Volturi no less.

I honestly couldn't help it sometimes. Just last night a small girl of perhaps five or six succumbed to the fever and died. I remember watching the life leave her tired eyes. The vision haunted me as I made my rounds. It disturbed me more than anything else I had seen. I wasn't altogether sure why, but I had an inkling. The idea that she had so much else to live for, so much she hadn't seen or done.

I realized in the chaos of my last visit, I hadn't looked at the patient's name. Edward A. Masen. I sighed. It was easier for me to think of him as just "the boy." Now it was personal. He had a name, a family, and a life. It made me sad.

The next name, oddly enough, was Elizabeth S. Masen. I sighed again. This made it harder.

She was awake when I reached Elizabeth's cot. She was concentrating on the ceiling, a frown graced her brow.

I fixed a smile on my face. "Hello," I greeted with false pleasantness. It was needed, however, to keep the patients calm.

Slowly, the woman rotated her eyes so they were staring at me. They were a penetrating emerald green. The frown was still in place. "Hello," she finally said in a throaty whisper.

Her face was undeniably beautiful for a human. She had outstanding bronze hair. It draped her shoulders and was tucked behind her ears. Freckles dotted on her cheekbones and bridged across her straight nose. Her lips were full and a delicate shade of pink. Her face was strong and had the essence of authority and knowledge. I remembered her son, Edward. He had the same green eyes. His hair was the same bronze, though he had a wild cowlick or a bad case of bed head. I felt another pang of grief that I could see this resemblance and see that these were people with lives and loved ones.

"I'll just be giving you a shot of antibiotics," I informed her with a smile.

She didn't respond. She only watched me as I took out a flask of the medicine from my breast pocket and filled up a syringe with its contents. As I was about to give her the shot, she said in a small despondent voice, "How is my son?"

I poked the needle through the skin on her upper arm –I was careful not to make contact with her arm- and answered serenely, "Well, he's alright, for now." I needed to be truthful yet give her hope for the time being.

I looked up, as I took the needle out, and realized there were tears filling up the brim of her eyes. "Why?" she whispered. "Why him? He doesn't deserve this. No one does. But, my son…" she trailed off as she let out a substantial cough. "I love him so much," she finished dismally.

I realized my situation very suddenly and it was too late. I needed to find a way to distance myself. I felt the mere and reasonable pity turn into a deep sympathy and moroseness for this poor woman. I stifled a sigh of defeat.

"And my husband," she continued, tears trailing down her face now. "Surely he will die soon. I know it." She let out a strangled sob. "When I woke up and he was coughing, and then he just passed out. I –I- Well, I though he was dead." She broke down sobbing now so her words were barely coherent. "I-I love them s-so m-much," she went on stuttering.

I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You have to understand, we are doing everything we can to help them. And-" She cut me off before I could finish my sentence.

"What exactly does that mean?" she asked her tone sharp. Suddenly she was able to pull herself together.

"Mrs. Masen, we can only do so much. The antibiotics should help fight the virus," I tried to clarify, yet I knew that no matter what I said it would never be enough to sooth her.

She narrowed her intelligent eyes. "Obviously the antibiotics aren't working, Dr… I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Dr. Cullen, and Mrs. Masen, we don't have much else we can do for this situation. Penicillin isn't strong enough. I suppose antibiotics aren't either. It's just…this is very frustrating for everyone. We don't know where to turn, what medicines to use." I ran my fingers through my hair.

She takes a deep shaky breath that sends her into a fit of coughs. She clears her throat and rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to see this happening to my family. My family is my life, Dr. Cullen. I'm sure you can understand," she stares at me expectantly.

I only place the same false smile on my face. "Good-bye, Mrs. Masen. I'll be seeing you later."

"Elizabeth is more comfortable for me, if you don't mind. Good-bye. Dr. Cullen." She says her last statement with a sort of unnerving graveness that I don't understand. An anomalous smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

-scene change-

I peeked through the curtains of the window and peered out into the sky. The sun peeked demurely through the gargantuan cumulous clouds that rolled across the sky. Patches of stark blue punched holes through the clouds allowing the light to cascade down in heavenly beams. Another storm was coming in. I could sense it in the atmosphere.

I yearned to be at the hospital where I was needed. What good was the inability to sleep when you couldn't do anything with it? I paced anxiously; my eyes constantly flitted to the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner. I paused to look at it. Caius had given it to me for my birthday one year. He told me it was a joke. I pursed my lips. I'd never really found the joke funny. I decided if it wasn't a good joke it was a nice clock. Caius did tend to have quite a dry sense of humor.

My mind quickly tired of the distraction. I still had at least four hours until I was due at the hospital. I peeked outside once again. The clouds were filling in any unclouded area of the sky.

I continued to pace. A familiar feeling began to settle into place: loneliness. I told myself it was only because I was used to the company of the Volturi, but it was something I'd began to notice before even then. I wished for some one to care for, some one who was a friend. However, I didn't have it in me to change some one just for the sake of my loneliness. It wasn't right. Would I just wait then for that certain some one to find me? Some how that didn't seem right either.

I decided that my pacing did nothing to help calm me. If anything it was making me more agitated. I sat down at the large oak desk facing away from the window and picked up the large medicinal textbook I had been re-reading. It was all in Latin and something I had picked up in my studies when I was in Volterra. A member of the guard had written it while he was human. He was extremely talented. He had the power to heal any wound and to cure the sick by a simple touch of the hand. He was fairly new at the time. Aro had been working with him to see if he could revive the dead.

A strange thought occurred to me; that I _missed_ Volterra. Volterra was indeed a haven for us creatures of the night, but when I left I felt all too relieved. An interesting experience, yes, but not one I would ever want to relive. Yet I missed the sensation of being wanted. I missed the bond I had formed with the Volturi and their gaurd. Still, I knew that was not the life I was meant for.

I looked at the clock again. Only five minutes had passed. I suppressed a sigh and tried to concentrate on the textbook. My time would come, I chanted in my head. Nightfall, after all, is just as inevitable as death.

**A/N:Ooo. Ookie ending –coughlamecough-. Haha. Well, that was certainly **_**interesting.**_** I didn't original intend on making Carlisle so angsty. I hope that turned out half way decent. The next chapter is going to be done in Edward's PoV, so everything will be back to normal. There will probably only be 2-3 more chapters left. Most likely 3. And I wish my chapters were longer. Sorry they aren't. –tear-**

**Please go to my profile! I have some semi-important news that I would like people's opinions on. **

**By the way, I will totally take any requests people have. ANY. I want to know what you people want!**


	7. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I know, I know, it's not a chapter, but this is really important. Sort of, but I thought you should know.

This week I cannot update my story and I won't be able to next week either because I'm actually going to Chicago to visit family. I'll be working on it when I'm visiting, but I probably won't be able to post anything.

Just wanted to inform you lovely readers of my little hiatus.

Also: Look out for a little one-shot Stella Ann requested for me to do that involves Emmett, Bella, and arm wrestling.

AND: Saranicole pointed out to me that penicillin wasn't discovered until 1928 and antibiotics weren't discovered until even later. I changed it so the chapter was actually historically accurate. I apologize for not doing the proper research. I'll be more careful about that next time. So, you can go read the more edited chapter 8 if you like.

That's all. Toodles, toaster-stroodles.

envy


	8. Chapter 10

A/N: So, Eclipse basically blew this story out of the water. I sort of forgot about the whole war going on. Oops. Oh well. I may have to have some sort of mention of it... In any case, the show must go on.

Chapter 8

I awoke with a start. The crippling sensation of fear was still twisting my stomach, as a result of the nightmare I'd just experienced.

My heart was still pounding erratically in my heaving chest. What had I dreamed that would cause me to react in such a way? I struggled to remember for a few moments before it came flooding back to me.

In the dream a thick mist rolled and undulated ominously around the black and twisted tree trunks. The trees were huge and ominous willows. The vines hung down dismally, pathetically. There was an odd air of moroseness that seemed to cling to the fog and surround the trees. The feeling sucked me in like a vortex.

I walked forward, not at all certain of where I was going. I just knew I had to keep going. If I stopped I knew I would disappoint. But whom would I disappoint? I was alone there. When that thought occurred to me I felt a surge of naked panic. _I mustn't disappoint, _I told myself severely. _I must persevere._

But little by little the panic began to set in. I was all by myself in this unfamiliar landscape. Where was my purpose –my reason to go on? Another wave of panic washed over me. That's when I awoke.

Now that I thought back on the dream, it seemed silly that I got so frightened. Loneliness was nothing to fear. Not to that extent, anyway.

As a matter of fact, I was less lonely than I'd been yesterday, I thought to myself bitterly; last night my mother had been moved into the ward for the dying. The very ward my father and I were currently staying in, I'd come to realize when I awoke. I didn't expect that to change anytime soon.

I felt a pang of sorrow. I didn't want to see my parents like this. It was wrong on so many different levels. For one, I looked up to them and to see them at this low was surely degrading. Further more, I loved them and the prospect of being orphaned because of this wretched disease made me feel extremely worried and depressed. What would I do with out my father's calm and collective manner and his wise and understanding words? Or my mother –what would I do without her sweet smile and intelligent eyes or her independence? I felt my stomach sinking at the thought. It was simply impossible to think of them as dead.

I turned my head to the left. My mother was shivering uncontrollably, not unlike myself. Her once strong features were defeated by fatigue and illness. Her closed lids were dark and purple -they looked like they could have been bruised. Her fair complexion was unhealthy and waxen. Her hair hung like curtains around her face, making a severe contrast between her pale face and brilliant red hair –or "bronze" as she put it.

I smiled wistfully remembering my mother's prideful word choice for the color of our hair. I 'd always thought it was too austere a word to describe the odd red-brown hue of my hair. "Why bronze? It's just red," I disagreed.

She huffed and rolled her sparkling green eyes. "Honestly, Edward, is it so awful to be proud of what you have?"

I made a face. "I think I'll stick with 'red'"

My mother had always had been a proud woman. She knew where she stood. She was confident, intelligent and headstrong; they were uncommon traits among women. She was protective, as well, I thought, almost bitterly.

Since the War, my mother had become even more paranoid about me. I wasn't afraid to be drafted –if anything I was eager to join the military. It seemed so idyllic and glorious. At least that's what the recruitment offices advertised. A friend, I'd gotten to know in the last year and a half had persuaded me.

Though I'd spent most of my time with myself, I'd had a reliable friend in school named Sean Kilpatrick. He was a year ahead of me.

"I'm signing up," he announced to me one morning in the yard in front of the school. "You should too."

I'd nodded in agreement.

"Everyone else is signing up, anyway. My older brother has already served for six months," he continued. "My father wouldn't have it any other way."

Two months ago, Sean had been shipped off to where ever the draftees go. I missed him, but not too much.

My mother, however seemed to disapprove of my friendship with Sean. She thought he was a bad influence. I knew this was because he'd swayed my opinion about signing up. My mother and I had argued on this matter a few times.

"It's dangerous," she almost pleaded.

"I'm almost of age. I think I can make decisions for myself," I said evenly.

She shook her head. "I won't let you."

"You can try."

Now it appeared that my mother didn't have to worry about me recruiting after all, I thought sardonically. Though it didn't necessarily mean she would be protecting me from anything.

An unexpected memory came to me of my mother when I was young. I was seated on her lap. My head was rested against her soft bosom and her warm arms her wrapped protectively around me. I listened to her vocal cords rumble as she told me a tale. My mother was a storyteller of sorts. Her niche was Greek and Roman mythology. She was in love with the epic tales and bold hero's.

However the memory that originally came to me was more the sensation of it rather than the tangible bits of the memory. But what sensation? Perhaps it was the feeling of being young and naïve. Or perhaps it was the simple feeling of being held, and protected. Whatever it was, it was something that I hadn't felt since I was young. It was easy to imagine though; there was a certain point in your life when you were no longer treated like a child. You had to grow up. And yet… I felt a sudden desire to be a carefree and naïve child again. Not that that would save me now.

As I grew older I felt a certain compulsion to separate myself little by little from my parents. It was a natural separation. I felt it came with growing older. Only now did I wish I had clung to my parents as fiercely as I had when I was a small child. I thought forlornly of my mother's washed-out features and my father's inert form.

I inclined my head forward slightly to peer at my father. It appeared that he'd been totally unresponsive to the medication. I'd heard the doctors talking and saying that he'd come in too late, that they were out of options.

They couldn't be out of options. That was impossible, I thought to myself petulantly. They weren't trying hard enough. Why? Why weren't they trying every single remedy? There had to be some medicine that would work. There _had _to. If he died, I decided –cringing at the horrific word- I would sue the hospital for every penny it had for malpractice.

I couldn't tolerate the idea of my father dying. It was an equation that simply didn't –wouldn't- add up in my mind. He was too important to lose. I needed his calm and methodical example to follow. I needed his steady encouragement. He was so important to me, yet here he was on the cusp of death.

I scrunched my eyes closed as a wave of emotion rolled through me. My throat constricted causing my throat to burn.

Yet I pushed myself to remember. I wanted to remember him before anything happened to him.

_Don't think like that, _a part of my mind begged me. _You all will live. You'll go home probably in a couple days and everything will be back to normal. _

But I didn't believe that. Why on earth should I believe that? This wasn't just some minor cold, or allergies. It was an all out epidemic. I was going to die just like my parents, and everyone else.

My throat constricted painfully, once again at my dismal thoughts. I lifted my head again to get a peek at my father, who was lying across from me. I would have assumed he was dead if his chest didn't rise gently every now and then. His face was sallow, tinged with a sickly yellow. The skin circling his eyes was gray. His usually smooth, dark hair was in total disarray.

I remember my father's reaction when I told him I was planning on signing up for the army. He sighed deeply. "Is that really what you want to do?" he asked tiredly. I could tell right away that he in no way supported my plan.

I was taken aback by this- I expected his reaction to be much like Sean's fathers. "Yes, I'm sure," I answered, though my voice wavered, contradicting my words. Suddenly the thought of going off to fight for our country in its time of need didn't seem like such a great idea.

My father noticed the uncertainty in my answer. "Son, this is something you really need to think about." He paused for a moment; his eyes straying to the window- they had a far away look to them. The his eyes snapped back to mine. "War is a serious thing. You may get drafted anyway, I won't lie, but I wouldn't rush into it. It's not a game. Do you understand me?"

I nodded silently. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say, though in the end, I realized he was right. Nonetheless, I felt deeply disappointed in myself. I wanted to sign up the very day I turned eighteen. I'd gotten a couple letters from Sean. He didn't say much. They were fairly generic and vague.

My thoughts strayed back to my father. He always made me look at things from a different perspective. He wasn't the type to get impatient with me for being so black and white about things. He would simply guide me in the other direction, never telling me that this was the way it had to be –he let me choose what I wanted to do. Most of the time anyway.

My father had the strong belief that I ought to be more social. I tried reasoning with him saying that I was content with my situation –I didn't need more friends, never mind the fact that I didn't fit in anyway. He didn't agree.

He took me with him to many occasions and parties, none of which I found entertaining in the least. My father admitted that he too found the parties rather boring. But he claimed that it was important to be social and well connected in his business and I was expected to take his lead and become a lawyer myself, not that I objected. It was a very practical occupation. I just didn't understand the value of social status. Why did that matter, of all things?

"Well, son, it helps to be friends with people. They trust you then, and will hire you, if need be," he explained. "Like I said, it's good to be well connected in this business." He gulped down the rest of his champagne and went to join a cluster of people, laughing haughtily.

I sighed. I knew I'd disappointed him. I always made friends with the wrong people or crowd. I'd always managed to make friends with people that had a genuine personality, but not money and status.

I couldn't help but wish that I'd made more of an effort now that it was too late.

My eyelids were growing heavy, like there was a great weight sitting on them. I wasn't just tired –I was entirely exhausted: as if I'd been running for hours, with out stopping. Only I hadn't been. I'd been lying in bed this whole time, hardly moving. I moaned, softly, in frustration and concentrated on rolling over, onto my side. It took me a moment to build up enough strength to even begin the over-whelming process of moving. I felt every muscle and sinew strain and tighten and ache in protest, but I finally managed to succeed in the great feat of rolling over.

I closed my eyes and began to fall into the early stages of slumber, when I heard the sharp and always ominous creak of the door of the room swing open. My eyes snapped open, and I watched as Doctor Cullen strode, fluidly, to my father's cot, which was closest to the door. He was staring down, at some medical sheets he was holding in his abnormally pale hands. He looked up sharply, and then to my father, a look of surprise flitted across his face before it became carefully calm. He then swiftly left the room.

I frowned in confusion. What was going on? I didn't understand what surprised him. It was an odd expression for him. Whenever I saw him he seemed to just exude peace and calmness, in the mess of death and sickness that was the hospital. Whenever he'd stopped at my cot, to check up on me, he'd always had a certain air of optimism and tranquility that was soothing. So what could have broken his composure, I wondered?

The possibilities that occurred to me sent a trill of fear through me. I was able to piece together what I was sure what happened and my mind reeled at the abhorrent thought. I eyed my father, hesitantly, not sure if I wanted to see what I was going to see –as if it would be visible. But I could see no difference in his appearance. My brow pulled together again. Was I just being paranoid?

At that very moment, Doctor Cullen burst through the doors with a team of two other doctors and two nurses. They all bustled around my father's cot moving about hurriedly. Their expressions were grim in a way that said, "There's no hope." They spoke in muted, solemn voices, so I couldn't discern what they were saying.

No. This could not be happening. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. This had to all be a nightmare, a bad dream. It couldn't be real. I would wake up in my bed at home and go to school and come home, and everything would be just fine.

But even as I thought this a crushing sort of hysteria set in. It squeezed my chest making my breath come out in forced and uneven gasps that scraped cruelly against my throat. My eyes felt hot and moist. _Stop it, _I told myself. _You're over reacting. It's probably nothing._

I watched, though, the somber expressions of the doctors and nurses as the pushed my father's gurney out of the room. I couldn't see my father, because they were crowded around him, with no space for me to see. It wasn't until they'd opened the door, when Doctor Cullen stepped away, and I got a view. I didn't see much but I saw enough: the white paper thin sheet that had served as his sole blanket was pulled over his head.

"Edward?" Doctor Cullen said to me anxiously. It sounded odd though, distorted, as if he were calling to me through a tunnel.

The words didn't seem to register though. My mind was elsewhere –somewhere infinitely darker, for my father was_ dead._

A/N 2: I'm sorry; I just had to squeeze in some Eclipse in there. It was bothering me. And yes, I know what you're thinking: "I waited a whole month for _this?_" For that, I apologize. There was a lot of stuff that I wanted to write in and I couldn't figure out how to do it. And I re-wrote this four times before settling on this version as the best. I was also more partial to this version because I had the idea of his life flashing before his eyes before he dies stuck in my head. I mean, he thinks he's going to die. You know what I mean. But yeah. I probably could have done a better job of that.

Also: I'm not going to have any regularity in my updating. School just started and I would really like to not have a repeat of last year, where I was just floundering. So, as much fun as this all is right now it's not my priority.

Sorry for the humongous author's note.

And thanks so much to my lovely reviewers. You people are awesome. It's so encouraging to get reviews. I'm glad this story isn't just entertaining to me. I also have to specially thank the people who've criticized this story. 


	9. PLEASE READ

**AN: I know, I know. You guys are all like "WTF? Where's my chapter?"**

**Ha ha.**

**I have a decent explanation this time. I'm **_**almost **_**done writing it, I swear. About two thirds of the way done. **

**Anyway, I need to put this story on hiatus for about a month or two. Why, you ask?**

**I decided I really wanted to do NaNoWriMo. Mostly it's personal reasons why I'm doing it, but I feel really good now that I decided to do it. **

**If there's anyone who has an account feel free to add me (as I've found you can do). My name there is **_**altereggo. **_**Which, by the way, is going to be the user name I'm changing this one to. **

**Thanks for being so patient! And I'm sorry this isn't a chapter! Expect one sometime around Guy Fawkes Night. Or November fifth. Whatever fits your fancy:D**


	10. Chapter 11

AN: I present this to you as an early Guy Fawkes Night present 

Or late Halloween present. Whatever fits your fancy.

The word rang hollowly and finally in my head. However, my initial reaction wasn't one I'd expected; I felt almost relieved –relieved that he no longer had to suffer. It sounded clichéd, to me, but it was true.

I'd definitely gone off the deep end, I thought, if that was my first reaction. It was either that or there was still a part of my mind that didn't fully grasp the situation at hand. I struggled for a moment to find the proper grief and sadness, but it wasn't there. Not really. I could feel it tugging on the edges of my mind, however it was a vague sensation.

Dr. Cullen approached my cot warily. There was a long moment of silence as he watched my face for any trace of emotion, and I did the same for his. His lips were pressed into a solemn line and his eyebrows were two solitary golden lines over his absurdly amber eyes. I was careful to keep my expression blank, devoid of all the raging and contradicting emotions warring in my mind.

"Edward?" He finally murmured cautiously. His eyes still scrutinized my expression, as if at any moment my calm would break. His scrutiny wasn't all that unreasonable, if that was the case. "Are you –Did you see what happened?" he asked after another prolonged moment of silent speculation.

My eyes narrowed into a glare. "Why did he die?" I whispered huskily. Anger suddenly boiled deep with in me. A form of resentment that I'd never experienced. The emotion was something akin –if not the actual thing- to hatred.

Dr. Cullen assessed my baleful glower and his expression turned into one of sympathy. Or pity as I took it, which only fueled my anger. "We've been keeping track of his… status, and he already came in a poor state-"

I cut him off before he could continue –it sounded to me like he was stalling. "I don't see why you can't just tell me why he died with out telling me inconsequential details, that I've already been aware of since I arrived here. If you don't mind, can I have a strait answer?" I snapped.

He grimaced. "Considering the state your father came here in, there really wasn't much we could do in the first place. It appears he passed approximately two hours ago."

I clenched my teeth, forcing back the threats and accusations I wanted to throw at him. It seemed impossible, though. I wanted so very badly to yell and scream at the doctor, whom I'd trusted with being able to rehabilitate my family. The fact that I'd been subconsciously, so optimistic and trusting, frustrated me, because this disappointment was crushing, like nothing else and I had tried so hard to _not _be optimistic.

I felt the need to blame someone. It just so happened that because I'd put so much trust in Dr. Cullen, he was the one to blame for all this. "So there was absolutely _nothing _– I mean, _nothing- _ you could do to help him?" I demanded, and then coughed –I'd raised my voice higher than a whisper, which was generally something to be avoided, when my throat was as raw and swollen, as it was.

"I suppose, I ought to be honest with you-"

"I highly recommend it."

He smiled bleakly -though the smile was fleeting- before he continued. " The hospital's staff is much too small to accommodate the number of patients here, which is very problematic if we want to be efficient and help everyone." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. I had a growing suspicion of what he was about to say, but decided to keep quiet –just in case if I was wrong, and I really hoped I was wrong. "There have been several deaths due to this issue –because we're stretched thin, and even then there isn't enough staff to solve the problem. So, there are deaths that may have been preventable if we had the necessary amount of doctors and nurses." He resumed his examination of my expression.

"Are you saying my father's death could have been prevented?" I hissed, furiously. Even the raspy whisper my voice had become, irritated my throat, and I coughed again.

He shook his head. "I honestly don't think we could have saved him-"

"Maybe you could have, if you didn't neglect him," I suggested, my tone harsh, even though I only whispered the words.

Dr. Cullen's expression turned regretful and sorrowful at my words. "Please, try to understand that I – that your father isn't the only one to die because of this. He is one of many. However, I don't believe we could have done anything that would have helped. We're still trying to find methods-"

I cut him off again. The man began to utterly disgust me. Maybe I had been searching for his excuse, but now, I found it pathetic and cowardly that he didn't own up to what was clearly his fault. "Is that what you have to say for yourself? I don't understand how you expect me to think that just because 'he's one of many' it should be all right for him to be dead. Do you not understand what this has done? Do you have even the faintest inkling?"

He frowned, obviously not having expected my response. "Edward, I do understand –I know what it's like to-"

"My whole life is ruined! I have nothing! Everything was built around the fact that I was going to inherit my father's position _when the time came._ It hasn't come, Dr. Cullen. What will happen to my mother and I- if we survive, that is? How can we make money? My mother can't work, and I haven't finished schooling. Everything is ruined. Never mind that he's my father, and I cared for him. What is to happen? Honestly, I hope for death; it would be far simpler than life after this." I stopped then. I almost felt bad when I saw Dr. Cullen's remorseful expression. But it only lasted for a moment, before my temper rose again.

He sighed and looked down to the floor, then back up at me. "Please, try to see that, even if we didn't have a shortage in doctors, he probably wouldn't have been saved. I'm sorry –I hate to be pessimistic, but you seem to appreciate honesty."

I sucked in a deep breath, to steady myself, and because I'd unconsciously been holding my breath. It was sudden, and sharp, that at those words, my anger was subdued, and replaced by a different feeling, not as strong, for I couldn't even place it exactly. "No, you're not being pessimistic –just realistic, factual," I rasped, resigned. "It's not really your fault, entirely, I suppose." I looked away, now ashamed of my out-burst. I couldn't understand the sharp changes in my emotions. I struggled to some how sort them out, and categorize them.

Dr. Cullen stared down at me, his eyes sympathetic. "I don't mind if you blame me, Edward. I just wanted you to understand what happened." He looked to the clock on the far wall, over the doorway. "I ought to go, but I'll be back when your mother wakes up." He turned swiftly and left.

There was a moment of utter silence and peace, where all the raging emotions, were at bay.

And suddenly I could feel the anxiety and panic seeping into my mind, cold and thick. It settled in the pit of my stomach like splinters of ice. I concentrated on taking in deep calming breaths, but they were honestly not helping at all.

I pressed my hands against my forehead in a useless attempt to force the onslaught of hysteria back into my head –as if to hold myself together somehow. However this was about as helpful as my exaggerated breathing.

I tried to be optimistic, which I tried not to be, but I needed it now.

But I couldn't find the optimism. Of course I was optimistic when I didn't need to be and wasn't when I needed to be, I thought bitterly and slightly frantically.

I glanced over to the empty space where my father's gurney had resided and felt a hollow ache in my chest. I felt my face crumple just at the sight of it. I massaged my face with my hands trying to smooth it out. I couldn't cry, I told myself. What would crying do? It would make me weak and childish.

But the more I thought about it, the harder it made it not to cry. I was just so _tired. _I was tired of feeling so out of control. I was tired of trying to bottle everything up so I didn't look like the basket case I'd become. I was slipping at this point.

A fatigue so heavy settled over me so suddenly at the very thought of everything that had happened in the last couple days. I could hardly even keep my eyes open. I didn't fight the tears anymore, as they were silent now. There was no sobbing, no hysterical breathing. Just tears. They slid evenly and calmly down my cheeks. And that was fine –I let them. I wasn't going to fight it now –now that my emotions were in check.

I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come.

I awoke very slowly. So slowly, I wasn't even sure if I was fully awake. I felt somewhat aware of where I was and what I was hearing. It felt like a thick, warm fog clouded my head, making it difficult to concentrate on anything. It felt suffocating, uncomfortable.

However, I was able to take in a few details through the viscous, churning fog that surrounded my head, like a barrier.

For one, Doctor Cullen was back. He was standing on my other side, his back facing me. I could hear his muted, smooth voice, but not precisely what he was saying. I didn't try to figure out what he was saying. I was too tired, too weak.

The second fact I took in was my mother's face. She stared up at him, placidly. Though there was something under the surface, scratching it's way out. Or maybe it was digging its way farther in. I knew something was very wrong though by her vacant expression and the contradictory, profuse tears streaming down her gaunt face.

My curiosity somehow managed to be piqued through the dense haze. Why was she crying? What had put that expression on her face? It didn't fit it. She looked so defeated, so grief-stricken, somehow. I knew why. It took me a moment, but then I remembered.

It occurred to be that I was slower than normal. _I must be half asleep, _I decided. It wasn't comfortable, though. I was cold –very cold-, I couldn't breath properly, and my throat was burning. Each jagged breath felt like a serrated, rusty, knife dragging it's toothed edge down my throat. My head was absolutely pounding. The dulled, yet painful throbs made me tired –made me feel nauseas.

What kind of sleep was this?

My sluggish thoughts drifted back to my mother. I turned my head to the side, so I could look at her. Doctor Cullen had left, and the room was filled with such a dense silence that it pressed on my ears. I studied her expression to the best of my abilities while I was in this daze.

Her expression was one of such grief. A grief I could never understand, I realized. It was the grief of something so much more than a father lost –which was obviously bad enough- it more of a loss of her second half, her lover. It was so much deeper than my own despair, which seemed much duller than before. I guessed it had something to do with the fact that I couldn't exactly concentrate on anything without expending a great deal of effort.

My eyelids, with out a conscious decision began to slope downward. They were closed for what felt like a few moments, when I felt the cot rock slightly as pressure was put on it. I opened one eye, wearily, and saw my mother sitting on the edge of the gurney. She moved so she was lying beside me, and wrapped her arms around me. She was warm –very warm. Almost too warm, in fact, but I didn't shrug away. Besides the fact that I didn't have the energy to, I didn't really want to. I felt that she needed my support, and she needed me to be there.

My mother inched her way up the cot, so her head rested on mine. She wasn't very tall, at five feet and five inches. I'd surpassed her height as soon as I hit puberty. Considering that I'd already had a very slight physique before the growth spurt, I'd turned into a real beanpole afterwards. I'd never really grown it out. I was, and always had been, lanky. I'd only developed long, sinewy muscles from running. Which hardly added much volume to my build.

I sighed. I really couldn't concentrate on one thing at a time.

My mother spoke then, her voice throaty and low, but still comforting. "Oh, Edward," she sighed. She gently brushed my hair off my forehead. She rhythmically brushed it back again and again. I'd remembered her doing this when I was small. I felt a surge of déjà vu. "I'm so sorry," she continued.

"Why are you sorry?" I whispered blearily.

She didn't answer. She just kissed my temple before continuing brushing my hair away from my face. "You remind me so much of your father," she murmured, seemingly irrelevantly.

I sighed deeply, in an attempt to summon my drained energy. I didn't really feel anything, I realized. I just felt tired, sick, and hollow. "Why?" I rasped.

I felt her shrug. "I just have always felt that you take after him. You're very logical and sardonic. I suppose that's what reminds me the most of him." Her voice was even but there was a definite poignant ring to her tone.

"Does that make you sad?" I looked up at her face. She was looking down at me. Again I saw the unfathomable grief in her wide eyes.

"Not as sad as it makes me happy that you have that piece of him with you –that you're my son." She pulled me back into her arms. Then said, apropos of nothing, "You look so tired and cold, darling."

"I _am," _I confirmed. "Aren't you?"

She only sighed. "That doesn't matter, she whispered. "_Your_ health is what matters."

I frowned. That wasn't right. "No, mother, you should go back." I was too listless to move anything, to try to physically move the woman.

"Shh," she hushed tenderly. "Sleep, my darling. You need it."

I closed my eyes, but still frowned. "You should go back in your cot, mother."

"Sleep, Edward. Do not argue with me," she murmured. Though her voice was weak, I could still hear the authority in her voice. My lack of energy didn't make me want to exactly retaliate either, so I stayed silent.

I drifted into a deep, yet uncomfortable sleep.

When I awoke, I felt the sharp absence of heat and weight being shifted on my cot. I cracked my eyes open as I caught Dr. Cullen carrying my mother back to her cot. The scene didn't make any sense to me. I figured I must still be dreaming.

I studied her face as she protested feebly with the doctor, but it was all for not, as he laid her in her gurney. Then, right as he was about to leave, her hand shot out and grabbed his –her expression suddenly urgent. She spoke something to him in a low, tense voice. Doctor Cullen stared down at her in alarm for a long moment after she spoke before nodding his head mutely.

She smiled then, such a peaceful smile, that contradicted sharply with her worn and unhealthy features. She then rested her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes.

My eyes closed once again. I sighed, softly, so as not to irritate my throat. What an odd dream. I didn't really understand it, or what it's purpose was. I decided to let it rest. I'd figure it out later, when I woke up.

AN: I know, I know. I said I was on hiatus. Then I thought I might as well finish up the chapter and post it, so voila. It's a little confusing I know. 

And short. But at least it's something, right?

I _do _have a couple one-shots for you to munch on in the mean time, while I work on my NaNoWriMo, for those of you who are interested and haven't looked in my profile (shameless self-advertising. I know)

Anyways, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	11. Chapter 12

_**CARLISLE'S PoV**_

Doctor Loshakoff walked hurriedly astride me. "This has gotten too far out of hand," he muttered, his Russian accent distorted his English only marginally compared to when he first came to Mercy Hospital.

I nodded my head in agreement. I'd tried thinking of all the lives we _had _saved, but my mind had been tenaciously one-tracked; every time there was a death at my hands, I felt another brick of guilt drop bluntly to my shoulders and settle. "I've heard they're engineering a cure," I murmured, in an attempt to brighten the dismal mood. It didn't exactly work, however.

He shook his head, as we came to a stop at the end of the hallway, near the back door. He pulled a dark, and smooth pipe out of his left pocket and rubbed his thumb, broodingly over the dark, wooden patina in worried circles. "It gets worse. Day in and day out. I am here all the time, now. The wife, she is angry when I am home. She doesn't say this, but I know, Carlisle."

"This epidemic is taking its toll on everyone," I said.

He nodded. "I am worried."

"There are lots of reasons to be worried," I said, raising my eyebrows, inviting him to be particular.

He stuck the pipe in his mouth, taking his time. "You have a match?" he asked.

I shook my head, apologetically. He sighed and stowed the pipe back in his pocket. "She's getting sick. I am feeling this sickness, even." He glared down at his shoes. "My wife, she say she does not want to come here. I tell her that if she wants to live, she come here. I am honest with her. You know what she say, Carlisle?"

I concentrated on his nose rather than his eyes; it would be easier to not stare him in the eyes and see the personal anguish. I didn't want to be on such a friendly level with him. My relationship with Doctor Loshakoff was nothing more than professional, but since the epidemic hit, it had been nice to have someone to relate to. I wondered for the second time in two days, if there was a way to disengage myself in a smooth and clean way. "What did she say?" I said despite my internal discomfort.

"She say she does not want to die in a place that feels like death and illness. She say she would like to die in her own bed, quietly."

I looked up in his eyes. He didn't look anguished, as I'd expected. He looked deep in thought. "What do you think?" I asked him.

He pressed his pale lips together then said, "Think? Of what? Of my wife?"

I nodded.

"I think she is right. When I die, I will not die in a hospital. Not like this," he said, gesturing vaguely down the empty corridor.

"You won't die," I murmured in sympathy. Then I thought of the irony of that statement, and it could only, securely, apply to me.

He shook his head. "That is something I realized is very wrong. Us doctors, we think we are –what is the word? - Invincible, I think. We think we are invincible. Maybe it is because we have the ability to cure. A bit egotistical, no?" He smirked to me darkly.

I nodded my head, again, in agreement. "I couldn't have said it better myself." I looked down to my watch. "I have to get back there," I said.

He sighed, annoyed. "Some smoke break. Where are you going to be next?" he asked.

"I have some ends to tie with the Masen family. Edward Masen Senior just passed," I told him.

Doctor Loshakoff furrowed his brow. "That is not good. He was a lawyer, yes?"

"Yes, he was," I answered.

"He has a son too, I hear."

"Yes. He's almost a man. He's seventeen, I believe," I said in return.

"Hmm," Doctor Loshakoff murmured thoughtfully. "Well, good thing he's not a lawyer like his father yet," he said wryly.

I smiled, but it wasn't one that portrayed any joy. It was more one of sympathy. "I need to go."

"Good bye, Carlisle," He said as he pushed open the exit. A gust of unseasonably chilly air blew in threw the open crevice, for a moment only, as he slipped through.

I went quickly back down the hallway towards the ward I sought. I had to go in and see if Elizabeth Masen was awake, so I could alert her to her husband's death. It was going to be difficult, telling Elizabeth Masen about her husband. There was something so implacable yet hopeless about her that put me on edge. Maybe it was the fact that her love and worry was so plain on her face that made me feel such a fascination with her family. Edward, her son, had hardly said anything to me before he'd made his thoughts clear to me on what he thought of his father's death. They were certainly kindred spirits –Edward and his mother. It was disturbing how engrossed I had become with them.

I pushed open the door, and reflexively listened for the heart rate and breathing. I sniffed the air, imperceptibly, to see if I could sense anything of importance. The first thing I noticed was Elizabeth's breathing was normal –at least as normal as it could be while she was as sick as she was- meaning she was awake. Her eyes were still closed, though, and didn't open until I came to the edge of her bed and cleared my throat. She looked up at me, her expression impassive. "Hello, Doctor Cullen," she murmured.

"Hello, Elizabeth," I greeted, keeping in mind her preferred title.

She smiled a tight-lipped, mirthless smile. "I assume you're not just dropping by to say 'hello'?" she said with a subtle edge of grimness.

I sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

She frowned now, all traces of good humor disappeared from her face. "What's unfortunate?" she asked, warily.

I arranged my face into a careful mask of professional sympathy as I delivered the news. "Your husband passed away approximately four hours ago. I'm terribly sorry."

I expected her expression to be taken aback, or to show shock, or despair. However her face was rigid and indifferent. It lasted a moment before tears welled up in her eyes and drained down her wan cheekbones, and around the soft curve of her chin. Her eyes flickered to the spot where, hitherto, Edward Masen Senior's cot lay. "I see," she said too calmly.

I stood there for a moment longer before I said, "Would you like some privacy?"

She nodded. "Thank you," she said, though I wasn't sure to what she was referring to.

I left the room knowing I'd have to return to check on her again soon. The hospital had been bustling with doctors and nurses hurrying down the narrow corridors ever since the epidemic hit. I'd always been patient enough to go at their speed, for the sake of conspicuousness, but now I had the sudden impulse desire to dart through the halls to an exit as quick as possible. However, I restrained myself. I was relieved, when I made it outside. The fresh air, free of the bitter and slightly sour smell of sickness and the stale stench of death.

I turned my head both ways down the street. It was eerie how absolutely empty the streets were. The wind blew down the wide avenue. A newspaper spun like tumble weed down the opposite side of the street. It was like everyone just up and disappeared and left me alone.

I began to walk down the front steps, perhaps to walk or maybe it was just to further myself from the hospital. It had come to represent disease and decease, not the cure. I decided walking was better than standing still.

I hadn't gone hunting in two weeks, which was fine. I could handle that. But it still set me on edge when I wasn't totally prepared. _You've been able to resist the smell for years, why worry now? _I reasoned. I sighed. I was just making myself more nervous than I needed to be. However as I walked another cool breeze swept past me carrying a horribly enticing scent. My throat scorched and ached and my mouth flooded with venom. I was too used to this though, what with working in the hospital for as long as I had, and swallowed the venom back, with out a second thought. The venom only seemed to build the flame blazing in my throat, but it was better than it being in my mouth.

As I came to an alley opening the smell became stronger and I turned my head to see from where it originated; a small bundle of mismatched and dingy fabric shifted and hacked in a wet and soggy way. The alley way was overflowing and swimming with the disease. If I had the strength to, I would go and help the poor homeless individual. A growing negative part of my mind also pointed out that chances were, the hospital couldn't help the victim. And if I took this person, what could I do? I knew I was a good doctor, but I was only as good as any decent human doctor. I only had more time.

I continued walking down Michigan Avenue. My head swirled with thoughts of picking up and leaving and maybe going back to Europe to study. Maybe I could have another go at my private plan at finding a permanent companion there. More of my species existed there. Yet, I had such a sense of purpose working in an actual hospital, even if thus far my career in America was growing increasingly dismal. Not only that, but I'd grown a closer attachment to the humans, than I'd ever wanted –especially my patients.

Here my mind segued to the Masen's. I suppress a groan. I wondered what I was going to do about them. Elizabeth seemed healthy enough –almost enough to survive, I thought, but I didn't take the thought seriously, so as not to raise my hopes- but I was worried about Edward. He looked about as sick as his father had looked the day before his own passing. I wasn't sure who to feel worse for; there was Elizabeth Masen, who could come out of this with no son or husband. I wondered how she could go on with out them both. The loss of one was bad enough, but I had no hope for Edward Masen Junior. I didn't need to have multiple medical degrees and have studied medicine for decades, if not centuries, to know that he didn't have long now.

He was so young. He had his whole life ahead of him. He wasn't even married! He hadn't even finished school! He wasn't the youngest to go, for sure, and this wasn't the first time this particular thought had crossed my mind, but every time I thought it I felt a pang of strong sympathy. It was only stronger now because I'd allowed myself to get more involved with this family than I'd ever wanted.

I stopped walking to look up at the pale sun. It was hidden behind a fringe of ghostly clouds. It hung close to the horizon and elongated, blue, shadows reached eastward. I looked at my watch and decided I should start my way back to the hospital.

I took my time walking back to the hospital, walking at a pace even humans could call leisurely. It wasn't totally on purpose, but I felt a distinct dread as I neared the hospital, and came to walk up to a discreet side entrance, used only by hospital personal. The hospital was just so foreboding and completely grim in appearance. I wanted to help the people, but today I felt unusually useless and pessimistic. Not that I had been especially optimistic before, but now the small bit of hope I'd held onto slipped between my fingers like the precious water of a thirsty man. Maybe I'd just come to terms with reality.

I gently pushed open the door to the ward and peered inside cautiously, before fully entering the room. I noticed first that Elizabeth wasn't in her bed. It took me a full second to panic and then feel sweet relief, at seeing her lying beside Edward in his cot. I strode over to stand beside his cot and gently leaned over Elizabeth's still body. Her heartbeat was clear, though it was like a dull mumble in comparison to what would be healthy. Her breathing was shallow and raspy. The fever had made a comeback, I noted with deep displeasure.

"Elizabeth," I murmured, so as not to startle her.

She was already awake, I realized as she replied immediately saying, "Please, just leave me." She said this in a hoarse whisper. She sighed then, as if she had to exert a particularly large amount of energy to just put together those few words.

"I can't. I'm sorry, but this isn't helping your condition," I reasoned. I tucked my hands under her side and around her legs, before sliding her into my arms.

"No," she whimpered, tossing her head in the direction of her son's cot. "Please. I need to be with him."

I shook my head and eased on my professional mask. "Believe me, this isn't helping either one of you," I said as I set her back into her cot and pulled the flimsy, cotton blanket around her.

"You don't understand," she said forcefully. Suddenly her voice was louder, more authoritative. She sat up higher in her cut and looked me square in the eye. "He has to live, Doctor Cullen. He's my son. I can't lose him; he's too young."

"He won't die here, Elizabeth," I lied with as much conviction as possible, straight to her face.

She narrowed her eyes and lay back in her cot. I took that as a dismissal, but her hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of my lab coat. I turned to face her urgent glare.

"Promise me you will save him," she said, hoarse and intense.

I took her hand in my hand, reassuring her. "I'll do everything in my power," I promised, though that wasn't all that much of a promise. I wondered fleetingly if she even recognized just how frigid my hand was. Her hand felt blistering hot against my own. Though, everything felt cold to her, in her state.

She continued to stare at me, with an icy intensity. She gripped my hand with surprising strength. "You must," she insisted. "You must do everything in _your _power. What others cannot do for my Edward."

I stared at her, frozen with shock at her words. I couldn't move or speak.

She leaned back then in her cot and visibly relaxed. She closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep. I stood over her staring at her, waiting for her to wake up again and explain herself. Or maybe to crack her eyes open and tell me it was just a joke. Kidding, she'd say. But that didn't happen.

How could she know? I wondered. I furrowed my brow. What had I done that would lead her to believe I was… what I was? My mind raced to find the reason for this before coming to another problem. Besides the fact that she inexplicably knew my secret, should I follow through with what she implied I do, and change Edward? I turned to look at him. He was at this point closer to death than his mother. I rubbed my face with my hand. This wouldn't be a purely selfish action, I reasoned, were I to do it for Elizabeth. Though it would be foolish to try and reason to myself that this was wholly for Elizabeth, and not myself. Did I not want a companion?

I looked back over to Edward. How could I change him and force him to endure this life? He wouldn't be alone, as I was in the beginning, but still. I felt selfish in an odd way. Perhaps it would just be better to let him die and go to Heaven. Elizabeth clearly didn't know what she was asking for.

I studied Edward's face carefully taking in his features –the mass of russet hair, and the strands that stuck to the perspiration on his forehead, the angular slant of his nose, the steady rise of his cheekbones, and the darkness encircling his closed eyelids. There was something there in his face that was heartbreaking. It was like his mother's, with the natural indignantly implacable edge, and then roughly softened by a certain hopelessness. I really was his only hope for making it through this and he didn't have long before he would pass away. I looked at my watch then looked back at Edward. I felt determination rise in me as I reached my decision. I had to do this. Even now, as Elizabeth was unconscious, I couldn't deny her demand. What would I really be taking away from Edward, anyway? I thought. He still had a whole life to live, why not give him an eternity?

&&&

My hand rested on the familiar ward's door, pausing before I pushed it open. The last hour had been hectic, to say the very least.

First, I'd checked Edward's pulse to see how long I had. It was weak, but it was there. I figured I had enough time to last him through the night, at the most. That was all I needed from him. Elizabeth was worse off, it seemed, to my utter surprise. She would probably die with in the hour. I decided to wait until after she'd passed away before dealing with Edward.

In the meantime, I went to go tend to my patients. I found myself much more skittish and edgy that usual. A colleague made note of this when he'd broken me from my deep thoughts and I'd jumped slightly, startled. He smiled slightly and said, "Sorry about that," too cheerfully for my stark mood. I smiled to him, despite myself, thin as a smile as it was.

"Not a problem," I said, before turning back to my patient. I shook my head to clear it, but it had little effect, as expected.

I'd gone about tending to a few other patients before I checked my watch –as I had many times over the past hour- before I went back to the ward.

And here I stood. It almost felt as if fresh adrenaline pumped through my long dry veins, setting me in an internal panic. I couldn't exactly even place my finger on exactly why I was getting myself so nervous. Maybe I'd labeled the sensation wrong –maybe it was really excitement I was feeling. Or maybe it was both. I didn't want to think about the repercussions, if this went awry. I'd never changed a person, after all, and I could only draw from my own shoddy change. I couldn't think that. Now, though, I wanted to exude certainty and professionalism, even if I would be the only one fully conscious. I wanted it more for myself anyway.

I finally pushed the door open, after what felt like an eternity. I tested the air tentatively, with my enhanced senses. I could find Edward's pulse, but when I searched for Elizabeth's pulse it wasn't there. I pressed my lips together, and went to her cot and pulled the blanket up over her head. I tucked the edges of the blanket under the thin mattress. I wheeled the cot of the room and into the morgue. The diener was already there, tending to a body. I left the room silently before returning to the ward.

I ran my hand through my hair. I only had so much time to get Edward out of the hospital and to my house. I checked my watch for what felt like the hundredth time. It was close to the end of my shift. I went out into the hallway. There weren't as many doctors as there had been before, in the long, wan corridors as there had been earlier in the day. Just to be safe I went back into the ward to retrieve Edward's cot and pushed it as casually as I could, to the exit used only by hospital staff. It was there where I came to a dilemma. How should I go about, inconspicuously in public with Edward in his current, flaccid and unconscious state? I considered the idea of just walking through the streets, with him, but that didn't seem like the best idea. A better idea came to me and I wheeled Edward's cot into a room off to the side near the exit. It wouldn't be for long, but it was for convenience's sake.

I rushed, as fast as _humanly _possible to the nearest phone, with out making a fool of myself, and called for a cab. I explained that I needed to bring a boy to his parent's home; he only had until tomorrow, to be sure, and his parents –whom were both miraculously healthy- wanted to see him before he passed. There was nothing that could be done. The manager of the business however said that he couldn't deliver me a cab, during this time. He said it wasn't safe to be in public what with the epidemic. I offered him twice the amount of money, if he was willing to send a cab over. It only took a few minutes of persuasion before he finally gave in, saying a cab would arrive soon.

I hung up, somewhat complacent, before returning to the room near the almost unnoticeable exit. The room was probably the only empty room in the entire hospital. It was small and dank, and like most rooms, windowless. I pulled Edward's cot out of the room, and started it toward the exit. The cot wouldn't fit through the door so I wrapped the blankets carefully around him and lifted him from the cot. I shoved the door open with my shoulder, and was surprised to see the cab waiting already. I sighed, relieved. At least now I'd gotten half of this out of the way, I thought as I walked quickly to the cab. I looked down at Edward. Now I just had the harder half of this to take care of.

&&&

The first thing I did when I got in the door was sprint up the stairs to the unused bedroom that had a bed that I only had as a prop. I laid Edward down on top of the comforter before securing the drapes shut. I pulled a chair up beside the bed. I frowned as I remembered the night I'd been changed. There was so much confusion and fear, that all I could remember when I thought back on the night, that was all I could think of, but then the memory came back much stronger, now. I could distinctly remember being bitten on my forearm and shoulder, though the shoulder bit was shallower than the bite on my forearm. There'd been another bite, somewhere on my leg. It was on my calf, I remembered, suddenly. That's where it was.

I pulled the thin sheet off Edward, carefully, trying to not disturb him too deeply, though I didn't think anything would awaken him now. He was on a fine line between life and death at this point, and I prayed that this would be enough.

In very methodical, and deliberate movements, I too his right leg in my hands, and lifted it slightly, bringing it closer. My teeth easily penetrated his soft, flesh. Blood drained into my mouth, and I was taken aback slightly by the powerful flavor of his blood. It wasn't that it was his blood, in particular, but it was more the fact that I hadn't tasted human blood in so long. I was able to resist the carnal urge to swallow the blood, with equally surprising ease. I just let the poison in my saliva soak into his blood stream before moving on to his forearm. With the same measured precision I bit there as well, and went on to bite his shoulder next.

I sat back then, and waited to see what would happen. It wasn't long before Edward began to twitch and jerk in discomfort. A moan emitted from him, low and steady. I sighed, with relief. Now all I had to do was sit and wait for him to recover. I glanced at my watch. Hopefully this wouldn't last too long, I though, with a sigh as shifted to get more comfortable in my seat –I was going to be here for a while, after all.

AN: A few things:

-So, I'm finally back from my little hiatus. I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't up to par. I'm a wee bit out of practice. Forgive me? 

-Also, anything inaccurate about the hospital and/or its location, I apologize for. I've never been to Mercy Hospital, so I'm sorry to say I don't know too much about it, except that it's in Chicago and it was around during this time period and that it's near Michigan Avenue. And, also, I don't really know how a hospital works. But I think that's pretty clear. As always, feel free to correct. 

-Also, please, _please, _**please**, review. I got a pretty pitiful amount of reviews for my last chapter, and I have to tell you, it's pretty disheartening and I'm certainly not very motivated to update more often. Not to say I won't update, but it would just be appreciated if you did review. Really, your reviews are very important to me, and I try to reply to everyone. So, por favor, review D?


	12. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, or any of their respective characters.

A/N: And, yeah. Sorry if there are tons of typos. I used spell check, but that's it. It's late, so you'll just have to take the flaws in stride for this one. 

Chapter 13

Any description of the pure, unadulterated, agony that I felt would be completely and totally imprecise and would only be able to barely scrape the surface of the actual amount of pain I was in. I had never in my life ever felt anything even close to that.

It was a kind of pain that penetrated all thought and sense. I could only even think of the pain that enclosed around me.

It almost wasn't even noticeable at first. It was just an annoying twinge, really. It wasn't long before it grew to a dull throb. It seemed to lull me into a deeper sleep. The lulling throb would only –of course- worsen.

And then the real agony started. It wasn't subtle. It came in sharp changes. First I felt molten hot needles stabbing and piercing through my skin from the inside out. It felt like white-hot irons were being pressed against my skin, and I could have sworn I almost caught the smell of burning flesh. The heinous sensations spread from three particular locations; my leg, arm, and shoulder. At first everything else felt totally numb, before the terrible blaze spread, engulfing my entire body. I could feel my vocal cords straining and grating, but I couldn't hear a single thing. Not even a whisper.

The agonizing fire that blistered, burned, and melted my flesh never ceased or lessened. Other pains were only layered thickly on top. Next, I felt a sharp twisting shock shoot through my bones like a jolt of electricity. I felt my vocal cords pull harder.

A cruel tightening then strained on my muscles. It grew tighter and tighter, and never seemed to stop before and explosion of pain hit me, like a train. The intense pain lingered, and stayed there.

It only worsened from there; I could feel nails plunge into my eyes, gouging, and piercing. Meanwhile, It felt as if pliers were pulling my teeth out, haphazardly, one by one.

Then I felt this indiscernible agony ricochet up my spine through the nerve endings –and I actually could feel it shoot up my spine- and hit me in the core of my brain before it reverberated around the inside of my skull. It was such pain, that I couldn't even begin to compare it to any sort of torture, that I had been subjected to previously. It was paralyzing, and froze my vocal cords. I've never been in so much pain that it froze me. Moving, and twitching in pain, seems like such a natural thing to do –it's almost as if you're trying to distract your mind from the pain. But I could do nothing. Everything seemed to set in stone –my arched back, my fists, and curled toes. My face screwed into an expression of absolute torture. I imagined it like one of those faces I saw at a museum with an exhibit of Chinese masks. There was one, where the corners curled downward into a horrible grimace, and its empty eyes were wide with terror. Its complexion was wan, and daunting. It hardly looked human.

I couldn't have looked very human right then, because I hardly felt like a physical being. Nothing felt physical, in fact. Everything was just absolute pain of the worse kind.

All of a sudden I felt change –a pull almost, suction. Everything began to center in my chest, and I felt my heart _tha-bump, tha-bump, tha-bump-_ing away at a faster speed than I new it was capable of pumping, when the agony reached a violent crescendo and I felt my body almost lift off the surface I was laying on. I screamed as loud as I possibly could and then as swiftly as the pain came it suddenly vanished into thin air. I heard the end of my scream, and it was strange sounding –it sounded almost animalistic and infused with a guttural roar.

I didn't relax as I lowered myself back onto the surface that was supporting me. I felt uneasy and strange all over. It sounded like there was an auditorium packed with people, and they were all talking a little too loudly. One voice was distinctly louder than the others –no not louder, but it was clearer:_ I should give him a little time, to relax before getting down to business. How should I even approach this? Definitely not bluntly. No, that certainly wouldn't go over very well._

At sounded like this man was talking to himself and in the room. I opened my eyes, and searched for a face, and didn't have to look long. My eyes didn't even have to adjust to the obvious blackness of the room, and strangely enough I easily picked out the shape of a man seated next to what I realized was a large bed that I was on. He was watching me with a solemn, yet curious expression. I waited for him to speak again, and he did.

_Well, he's ready I suppose. _

My eyebrows pulled together of their own accord in my confusion. I was actually confused about a lot of things, at the moment, but the one thing that caught my attention, as the fact was the almost familiar man, was speaking, without his lips moving. I almost asked him how he was doing that, but then decided against it. I waited for him to say something else. He did a moment later, though this times his lips moved in sync with his words. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions." He spoke with wary deliberation, as if I was unstable.

Which I knew wasn't true. I felt perfectly fine. No, better than fine –I felt energetic, almost, and acutely alert.

I was about to answer, but he cut me off again when he spoke. _I wonder… No, he can't already know. How will he react when I tell him?_

I frowned deeper still at the man. "Tell me what?" I asked very carefully, and slowly.

He looked perplexed. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're referring to." _Did I say that out loud?_

"You said, 'How will he react when I tell him?'" I reminded him. "Tell me what?" I repeated my question in a more irate manner than I had intended.

_Where do I even begin? I suppose from the beginning. I don't think he even remembers who I am. _

Why did he keep talking like that? I wondered. It was if I wasn't even there. And howhe even talking without moving his lips? Who was he, anyway? Where was I? I looked around the dark room. It was definitely not familiar. "What's going on?" I asked, cutting him off right as he began to answer my first question.

"It's very complicated, unfortunately, and I wish I could be more candid about it, but I think it should be handled as delicately as possible. Otherwise, I'm certain you won't believe me." He smiled slightly and paused for my response.

"All right," I said, not at all certain myself, of the direction this conversation was taking.

"I was your doctor at the hospital," he began, and looked at me again, waiting for a response. _He looks confused, _he mused, again with out moving his lips.

"Of course, I'm confused. How are you doing that?" I demanded at last.

He looked confused now. "Doing what?"

"You keep talking with out moving your lips!" I said, frustrated.

He blinked slowly. _What on earth…? _"I… don't understand what you're talking about." A crease formed in his pale brow. _Could it be that he has a gift? How interesting. _

"And why do you keep referring to me as a third person? And what do you mean by 'gift'?" I suddenly was growing more frantic, in my frustration. "Please, tell me, what the _hell _is going on?"

He grimaced. _I was hoping I could get to this later. _"Edward, I suppose I really should be frank, seeing as you obviously have noticed a change, of sorts." He paused again. _How can I put this so he believes me? _"Edward," he said again. "You are in a sort of state between life and death. Meaning, that you technically aren't alive, but I don't think I can really say you're dead either."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That really makes no sense at all," I said.

The man nodded. "I'm sorry, it's just very difficult to explain, you see." He sighed, loudly. "Do you believe in such myths as, oh say, vampires?" he asked in a forced casual tone. His deep gold eyes reflected some sort on tenseness that made me think there was more to his odd question than it seemed. _Please say yes. It will just make everything so much simpler._

"No, I don't. I don't understand how this relates to you talking with out moving your lips, or me being gifted, or anything, for that matter."

He nodded again. _Of course he doesn't. _"Then I don't suppose you would believe me were I to say you could … well, read my mind, hm?"

I opened my mouth to reply, with out really thinking, but then his words caught up to me and I snapped my mouth closed. It was then that I realized just how absolutely ludicrous that sounded. What was I supposed to say to that? '_Oh, I see. Why didn't I think of that?' _I gaped at the man that I now not only saw as a complete stranger, but also as insane.

"I wouldn't expect you to believe that," he said as another small, grim smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

I was still speechless, and decided then I should wait until things played out. Maybe things would start making sense, I thought with more cynicism than optimism.

_He doesn't look like he's about to believe me. _There was a pause and then he said, _You can hear this, can't you?_

I nodded once.

_Interesting. Then I think it's very safe to assume he –excuse me- _you _are telepathic. _He tilted his head slightly to one side, with a curious expression. _It's not easy to believe is it?_

I closed my mouth very slowly and swallowed, to help sooth my very dry throat -it didn't help. I must have gone insane. I really must have, because there was no way I could read minds. Was I schizophrenic? Was that why I was hearing voices? Perhaps I was hallucinating as well, because nothing here felt normal or familiar, and everything here felt strange and slightly surreal. The murmuring of voices made me feel even stranger, and on edge. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up!" _I hissed under my breath, holding my head in my hands. I couldn't even think. I tried concentrating on some quiet space between the murmurs, but it just grew louder, as if the volume were being amplified, rather than voices actually yelling.

"Edward?" The man asked softly. I looked up, and met his gaze wordlessly. "I think the best way for you to believe me is for me to show you." He stood up from the chair he was sitting on and waited for me to move. I remained still. "I can promise you that this will make you believe me –about being… different, now," he said, when I made no move to get off the bed.

"I can understand how this could be very hard to believe, but I think if you just come with me and _try _to believe me, it will me easier."

"Why should I go with you? You're insane," I snapped, suddenly. I glared at him, then moved to the other side of the bed, and swung my legs over the side, and pressed my back to the far wall. I needed to get away from him. As far as I could tell _he _was unstable, not I. Or maybe it was both. Either way, I was going to get out of the room.

"Listen-" He began.

"No! _You _listen. I don't know who you are, or what you want, but there's no such thing as telepathy, and I have _no _idea what you mean by not being dead or alive. That is all complete insanity." And then I had another revelation. I remembered then being in the hospital, and the doctor there. "Oh my God," I said slowly. "You -you were that doctor –from the hospital." I froze as the entire reality of the revelation hit. He seemed so levelheaded, and calm, and methodical. It appeared I'd been quite wrong in my assumption.

The doctor nodded. "I can assure you, that I'm not insane, though."

"I don't believe you."

He sighed. _How am I supposed to get him to go along with this?_

"You won't, because this is ridiculous and insane, and I'm leaving." It occurred to me that I ought to be afraid of this man –he had a name but I couldn't remember it. Something like Dr. Curtis. I couldn't bother myself to try to think of it at the moment- yet I couldn't' find the slightest bit of fear in me. I was just felt extremely frustrated because everything seemed so bizarre and nonsensical.

The doctor edged to the door. _Listen to me, please. I can't let you go just yet. If you would just listen to me, then I could let you leave, once you can make a fully educated decision. _

I studied his expression for what felt like a very long moment. It was open, and honest, slighted a little by a look of urgency. He still had a very level look about him. He really didn't _look _like he belonged in an asylum. _I promise you can leave, if you still want to after I explain everything._

I swallowed again, to dispel the dryness in my throat, again, but I felt it only making the increasing dryness worse. "Fine," I finally said, apprehensively. "What are you going to show me?"

"A mirror," he said simply, as he opened the door. He looked back at me and I followed him out of the room.

The whole house was rather dark, and plain. All the curtains were pulled closed and only thin slivers of white light drew abstract lines across the floor and furniture. Even the décor itself was in darker tones. He lead me to long, oval shaped mirror, surrounded by a band of intricately carved mahogany in what appeared to be his parlor.

I didn't really notice any changes in the person staring back at me for a moment, before I took in the details; my eyes had changed completely to an incredible crimson, my hair, which had always been bottom line, unmanageable, looked somewhat neater, and it was just the general shape of all my features that had shifted. My whole face had a more angular and older look to it, while I still looked my age, and my skin was the most pale I'd ever seen it. I turned to look at the doctor, hoping he would give me the answer.

_You see? _He said in his strange way, with out moving his lips. _You've been changed._

I turned back to the mirror to stare at the abruptly not so subtle differences. "How did this happen?"

"Why don't you take a seat?" He invited, as he began to walk over to a deep brown leather wing chair. I obediently went to sit on the coach situated next to the chair. _Do you remember being in the hospital with your mother and father? _He asked.

I thought for a moment, dredging up the memory. It felt vague and long ago, but I could recall my mother laying in a cot parallel to mine, her eyes wide open, and still, and my father across from me, lifeless, and pale. "Yes," I said. "I can remember."

The doctor nodded, encouragingly. "I was treating your parents, and yourself, but the influenza wasn't really getting better as I'd hoped it would, with what treatment we could give you. Nothing was working though." As he spoke images began to trickle into my mind and each image was not of my own memory. It was as if they were through his eyes. "Then I had just come by to check on your mother, and I found that she wasn't well, to say the least." And image flashed of her sallow, sunken, face, with a sickly sheen of perspiration. " She told me to save you with what power I had that none of the other doctors had, before she passed." He had a mask of sympathy on his face as he said this last part. _I'm very sorry. I perhaps should have told you before._

I shook my head, dumbly. "It's fine. Please, keep going," I said, though I had a feeling that it was going to come back to me later. However, for the time being, I was far too interested in the rest of the doctor's story.

He continued smoothly then. "I'm like you, Edward, you see. Not many others are… like us. I think it was safe for me to assume that I should change you. I wouldn't have if you could have survived, but you were dying, and it was your mother's wish, so I went through with it." There was another smattering of images, like my own feeble looking body, being carried by the doctor, into his home, and then placed on the bed in that darkest of rooms.

"I don't understand though; what are we?" I asked.

_Of course. _He blew out a short breath of air and looked past me, to somewhere else. Here I got a vision where the doctor seemed to be running, and shouting '_There they are! There are the demons!' He seemed to be in front of a large mob. He was running toward a small group of pale skinned ragged clothed people. As he got closer a man in front, hissed loudly, in a strangely primal way, and suddenly leapt toward the doctor. _The image ended very quickly. "Do you absolutely promise to believe what I tell you next?" the doctor said in a very serious tone.

I considered for a moment then said. "I'll try to."

A corner of his lips twitched upward. "That's good enough." He cocked his head to the side, and focused his extraordinary eyes on me. "What we are, Edward is something almost human, but not quite. Something supernatural, and in most cultures, considered dammed." He paused again, and I heard him collecting his thoughts, but I couldn't quite make any of it yet.

"So then what are we?" I asked impatient for his answer.

The one-sided smile pulled up on the other side, making it equal, yet it remained dark. "What we are, are vampires."

A/N: Agh. Sorry about the crappy-ish ending.

And sorry about how long it's been taking me to update. All I'll say is, is that school has been brutal D: 

So, this is the second to the last chapter. Yes, that means the next one is that _last _one. Then… I 'm going to take a break maybe. I think I'll start working on something that's more romantic. If people have requests I'd be willing to accept them D

ANDDDDD thank you so much to all those people who have reviewed. You guys are made of awesome. Seriously, it means a lot to me to get feed back, positive, or negative. So, let's continue that tradition, hm? Review?


	13. Chapter 14

A/N: So, I seriously busted my arse to get this one up

A/N: So, I seriously busted my arse to get this one up. Only because I've had a ridiculous amount of schoolwork lately, and I'm actually leaving to go on a trip _today. _Basically, I know this is short, but I said everything I wanted to in it, and I hope you guys are somewhat satisfied with it, at least :o)

Chapter 14

Perhaps it would have been harder to believe the words the doctor uttered, but he didn't pause for long and explained everything. However, when he was done I still was confused. 

"But what about the voices?" I asked him. "Am I the only one who can hear them?" 

The doctor smiled blandly at me. "Ah, yes. The voices." His gaze shifted to a painting that hung on the wall. I'd some how failed to notice it when he and I entered the room. It was large and vibrant. It depicted a balcony in the clouds with three men shrouded in dark cloaks, peering bellow at a confused and despairing scene, while beams of light shown on them. I looked back at him and saw that he was studying me very warily.

"It must be a special ability. I'm positive it's telepathy, until we discover any new developments in it," he said.

"So," I said slowly. "I'm not only a _vampire,_ but I'm also a _mind-reader_?" There was no way I could hide the edge of doubt in my voice. I knew I should believe the doctor, now that I'd miraculously accepted the fact that I was a vampire. 

He chuckled at that. _Just when you thought it couldn't get any stranger, hm?_

The corner of my lips twitched up into a small, grim smile. I didn't say anything –I just waited for further explanation.

He sighed. "There are some of us that carry strong traits from our human lives into this one. However, this is a very rare occurance. There is a very small percentage of us that possess a special ability such as yours." He tilted his head very slightly to the side and his expression was curious. _I wonder what makes him different._

I was still silent. I wasn't sure about which direction I wanted to carry the conversation in. The doctor spoke up before I got the chance to fully contemplate which of my many questions was the most urgent.

_I'm sure you're confused about why I picked you, out of everyone. _

I looked up at him. "Yes." I said starkly. The thought stirred something deep inside me. Something that wasn't just in my head, but also churned in my empty stomach. I composed my face as carefully as possible, so the doctor didn't seem to notice. 

_It was your mother, you know, that demanded that you not die –because you would have been dead now, had I not made the decision to follow her wish. I don't know if I would have done anything, had she not been so specific in her words. _An image came up then of my mother. She looked worse here than in the first one. Her breathing was gasps of moist air and her face was incredibly pale. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes were large and grey looking. _You must do everything in _your _power. What others cannot do for my Edward, _my mother said with chilling urgency. When it was over, the doctor's expression was apologetic. 

I sat back slowly in the couch and lowered my head into my hands.

Grief is an interesting thing if you've never truly felt it before. It was amazing how it felt in its unadulterated emptiness. The very thought of my mother now was simply unbearable. I almost felt sick. 

_Perhaps I shouldn't have said… No, no. I'm just sorry, Edward. I truly am for this, _the doctor said.

I looked up at him. I still wasn't sure what to say to him. What could I even say to that? That I didn't mind? That I wanted to know? I couldn't say any of those things truthfully. I didn't know what was more disturbing about the memory the doctor played back to me –maybe it was the fact that my own mother wished this upon me, or, it was seeing her in such a state that looked moments away from death. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what was going to happen to me then. I wasn't even completely sure of what I was anymore. 

_Do you need to be alone? _The doctor asked me, gently, when I didn't respond for an instant too long. 

I nodded, dumbly. He stood up and begin to leave the room, before I called him back, as a question sprang to my mind. "Doctor…" I trailed off remembering that I didn't know his name.

"Cullen," he finished. "But, please, call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle," I repeated. "I have a question," I began, as I realized simultaneously how strange the inquiry might sound. "What's going to happen to me, now?"

"Well, that depends, doesn't it?" Carlisle said with a strange lilt to his voice. I didn't have to wonder what it meant, when he answered it in his mind. _He may not stay, but I can't make him if he wishes not to. _"It's all your choice."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "What choices do I have?" 

_Many, _he answered with somber certainty. _I may be biased in what I think you should do, but I think you should decide, Edward. I'm not your father. And age ceases to matter in this new existence, so you're as good as any adult. _

"Ah," I said. I paused. "What _do _you think I should do?"

_I think -for now, at the very least- that you should stay with me. It's too big of a risk that you could become savage, especially because you're a new born. And that will only get you destroyed, in the end. _

"Destroyed?"

_Yes. Destroyed. Becoming ravenous with thirst, in a city, will obviously draw attention to yourself by humans, which is simply not allowed for our kind. The Volturri will take care of you. It will be as if you never existed. _

I remembered then how he'd explained how they were the royalty of vampire kind. They made the rules and the only rule was to never ever make yourself conspicuous. "Oh. The Volturri. Right." I looked down at my hands and frowned. "So, you want me to stay with you until, I'm no longer a new born, and have better control over my … _thirst."_

_Exactly. _He confirmed. _But, again, it's your decision._

I shook my head , yes. "I'll stay."

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, but he didn't smile fully. _Good. _He gave me one last look, before exiting the room. As he walked away his voice seemed to fade some into the background of murmuring. 

I rubbed my hands together, and my skin felt strange against my own skin. It felt too smooth and cool. I finally rested my hands, palm down, on my knees. 

There wasn't anything that I felt I could do, or think, even. Yet, company didn't suit my mood. I felt restless, yet weary and my whole body didn't feel like it was my own. Even my mind didn't feel safe anymore, with the constant chattering and clamor of speech. I felt almost as if all the people could hear my own thoughts. I wondered if they thought I was crazy. I wonder if they thought my situation was as impossible as I thought it was. 

More than anything I wanted to go to sleep, but Carlisle had explained that was one of the defects of being an immortal –no sleep. Ever. 

That was not a cheerful thought, nor one I wished to remember. If anything it made me feel depressed. I rested my elbows on my knees, and pressed my closed eyes on my fists. _Sleep, _I commanded myself. _Please, if there is a God, let me fall asleep. Better yet, let me drop dead, right here and now. Amen._

I had no such luck. 

-scene change-

The next day, Carlisle came to me, where I had been since the day before, on the couch. He told me that he had to take me hunting. He said he didn't have any blood in his home, and that it wasn't safe to keep me unfed. He also said that we would have to go over my parents' will and the situation with my home. 

I went down to the train station with Carlisle, where he bought two tickets to Milwaukee. From there, he said, we would could run with out being noticed.

"Why don't we just run the whole way?" I asked him as we were leaving the safe sanctity of his house. "You said we were fast."

"We have to be very careful to be inconspicuous," he explained. "I don't want to take any chances." 

We stood on the porch of his house for a moment staring at each other. 

"So, this is it," I said, finally. I looked down the empty street. It didn't feel so lonely, though, with the constant chatting in my head. Most of the voices had either dimmed or disappeared all together, over night. I wondered what that meant, but felt it didn't have a particularly good meaning. 

"This is it," he agreed. "I don't expect we'll come back here very much after everything is sorted out." He looked up at his house. His eyes weren't fond. He looked almost resentful. _This is just another home that I spent too much time alone in. _Carlisle glances back at me. _You don't know how glad I am to have your company. _

I smiled to him as genuinely as I could, but remained silent. I suddenly felt more sympathy for him than I had since I first met him. Though, I hadn't known him for long. 

"We should get going." Carlisle said. He studied his watch very briefly. "The train should be leaving in half an hour or so." 

I followed Carlisle down the brick stairs of his house. I took in an unnecessary lungful of cool morning air. I felt as if I had come full circle just then, in a strange way. I was at the end of the stairs in the beginning of the day, though it felt more like the beginning of an eternity. And there was no part of it that I could anticipate. Not at least until I could begin to know what that meant. 

My mouth felt dry and almost sandpapery while my throat was coated thickly with the burning venom. I was thirsty, and I couldn't bring myself to admit what it was that I found myself craving. It was too revolting, though Carlisle had calmly explained that he'd found a way that was much more civilized, though it was still not altogether civilized. 

I felt strange and clueless, but I was curious. My outlook, while not especially bright, wasn't dark. I just wanted to see what happened next. 

_FIN_

A/N: So, this is the last and very final chapter of _Dwindling Days. _Yay! No more waiting xD Though the chapter was really short… But still. 

Sorry if the ending sucked. The point of it was just sort of to be like, this is really the beginning, you know? Not the end? You can just imagine what happens next? That kind of thing. Though it's a _little_ cheesey. And I was trying to finish it quickly as possible.

I will not be doing a sequel with out question. I'm glad this is over with, but I'm also glad you lovely people seemed to have enjoyed it, as historically inaccurate as it is. 

Also, I'm going to be posting a one-shot in Rosalie's perspective, in a week, or so. Just so you know, I guess. _If _you're interested in any of my other writings. 

Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! You guys are so awesome!


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